Ogre Battle: March of the Black Queen
by WhiteFangofWar
Summary: The hearts of the people were troubled by secrets and betrayals and much blood was spilt upon the land.  Here, on the frontiers of Sharom, the last survivors of the knights of Zenobia were planning the final challenge...  Novelization. Rated for language
1. Prologue and Cast of Characters

Disclaimer: The 'Tactics Ogre' Franchise is the property of Enix.

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**Ogre Battle Episode V: March of the Black Queen**

**Prologue**

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So it is the tale of the Zenobian Revolution you seek, is it? A tale of warfare and judgement, of strife and valor? The tale of the hero who united the lands of the south against the evil Empire?

You have come to the wrong old man for such a story.

I jest, of course. Don't get antsy. Plunk your little urchin ass down and I'll tell you what you wish to know of the rebellion. Of course it is impossible to even start without first mentioning its star, the man whom all you young knights these days tell stories of to inspire yourselves through training or long marches. Destin of house Faroda, alias Destin of house Neb, alias Destin the Valiant, alias Destin the Destroyer. There are other names your idol went by as well, but they are not yet relevant and did not exist back in the beginning of those golden months when everything seemed perfect.

I've said too much already.

Forgive an old knight whose only comfort is the peals of the harpist upstairs. I do not seek pity, only state the plain fact that enough battle corrodes the souls and shatters the minds of those unprepared for it. The more of it one faces, the greater the chance of simply snapping or losing all desire to forge onwards. Gods know I've seen enough of my comrades in that state to know what I speak of. Ah, the Gods. The Twenty-Two. Was what we did their will after all, or merely a sideshow designed to make them laugh?

Starting again. Destin Faroda. The great hero of the rebellion, and the warrior who liberated a nation from a tyrannous foe. It sounds perfect on paper or in stories parents read to their children at night, and indeed the poor fool might well deserve praise for what we accomplished back then.

Yes, you all heard me right. I said 'Fool'. None of you ever knew that young firebrand in the years which made him a legend. I did. Yet... Well, perhaps I overreach myself. Simply bear in mind that history is always written by the victors and even then agreements among them are rare. Receive every word of my tale with a grain of salt, for the other survivors of the rebellion might deliver a completely different rendition. Few mortals can be absolutely sure if Destin- and the rebellion he led- were everything they were said to be, and when we are all buried in the earth, so will all reliable memory of it. So it is that I am willing to pass on these tales to you to the best of my diminished ability to recall.

Once upon a time, in the land called Zenobia, these things happened.

_The Sage Rashidi, perhaps driven by madness, assassinated his former friend King Gran Zenobia, and joined with Empress Endora, the leader of the northern Highlands, to wage war on four kingdoms. The overpowering military of the Highland legions took but one year to subdue the whole continent and thus Zeteginean Empire was born._

_The rule of the Empire was a regime of pure terror, and merciless persecution was directed against the loyal survivors of the old kingdoms and those who would escape tyranny. The hearts of the people were troubled by secrets and betrayals and much blood was spilt upon the land._

_Here, on the frontiers of Sharom, the last survivors of the knights of Zenobia were planning the final challenge..._

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Cast of Characters

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Destin Neb, Faroda, Rebel Leader

Captain Lans Hamilton

Warren, Sage of Moon

Governess Deneb Rhodes

Canopus Walf, Wind Rider

Yulia Walf

Governor Gilbert Oblion

Lyon, Beast Lord mercenary

Ashe, Former Zenobian Captain

Deva-General Kaus Debonair

Monk Aisha Forris

Priestess Norn Dias

Princess Rauny Vinzalf

Student Saradin Carm

Crown Prince Fichs Tristoram Zenobia

Angel Yushis

Emily Cashel, Cleric

Bors Figaro, Second-in-Command to Lans Hamilton

Selec Fubuki, Samurai mercenary leader

Liat Nisa, Second-in-Command to Selec Fubuki

Blaine Diwrnach, Doll Magi mercenary leader

Thomas Neralai, Knight

Bernard Rothchild, Knight

Governor Usar ap Ferghus

Student Kapella Radigan

Governor Sirius

Imperial Prince Gares Endora, Black Knight

Mer-Queen Porkyus

Deva-General Rowdain Figaro

Ares, Professional Assassin

Student Albeleo Kaisse

Baron Arwan Apros

Archangel Mizal

Necromancer Omicron

Galf, Archfiend

Gemini Twin Castor

Gemini Twin Polydeuces

High Shogun Prochon

Deva-General Cale Previa

Cardinal Genze Randals

Deva-General Tanaburs Luvalon

Overlord Hikash ap Vinzalf

Empress Valcemia Endora I, The Black Queen

Zenobian Hero Rashidi, Sage of Light

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M: Well here we go with a novelization of one of my favorite games and what should be my best story ever- not to brag. Hope to see reviews at some point, just as I hope the cast of characters list isn't too overwhelming at first look. Additionally, I'm divided on whether to Rate this M or T given some of the situations that I have planned later on. I'll start with a T rating, but it may change depending on how things go.


	2. Destiny's Child

**Destiny's Child**

**Tarot 0- Fool**

_With all his worldly possessions in one small pack, the Fool travels he knows not where. So filled with visions and daydreams is he, that he doesn't see the cliff he is likely to fall over._

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**Imperial Year 24**

The Tor lay shrouded in mist emanating from the highest cliffs down to the shores. Few men could say for sure whether the island was positioned in such a way as to be so affected year round or if its owner had placed a curse upon it to scare off intruders, but in a land where magic had once thrived and dragons roamed the latter seemed a more likely possibility. Without the orange lights that now emanated from both the cliff-bound castle and the boats slowly approaching it, no ship would ever find the ageing citadel atop the isle that the Sage Warren Moon had claimed as his own, nor the denizens of his court. They had learned to live with the ever-present cloud and even took comfort in it, for as the old Sage was fond of saying, 'any place can be a home'.

Indeed, for many of the refugees and outcasts he had taken in over the course of twenty years Castle Volzak was the _only _home. Possessing as varied appearances and conditions as the circumstances that had brought them here, they subsisted on his hospitality, eventually forming small townships of their own across the island. Even on the odd occasion when a combat-capable man came to the strange sanctuary, none had ever questioned the Sage's authority here. They learned to tolerate one another's eccentricities, put aside stubborn pride and pull their own weight, or were sent back to Zenobia proper with nothing, not even the clothes on their backs they had come in with. The choice to sail here could not be made lightly, but the collection of spherical lights out on the water tonight showed that they were about to have a great many guests here at Volzak, at least ten boatloads by the young warrior's estimation.

Destin Neb had not been summoned by Warren to cook food, clear tables or care for Ruclomb and Pheles during dinner, however. From the very beginning he had sensed a different purpose in the way his ward treated him and his deficenies, though he could not for the life of him guess why. A handsome young man by Volzak's standards, he bore great lengths of pale yellow hair over a round face, and small eyes that might have looked sinister under his brow had they not radiated an unnaturally bright blue pigment normally reserved for natural-born wizards.

Aside from that, his other little peculiarity was generally never even noticed by others until they spent a good amount of time around him; Destin's body showed a healthy thirty summers of age, but he carried himself like one a dozen younger. The sight of the lights outside remained a cause for excitement rather than resignation to him, and at once he longed to leave the room Warren had sent him to and go down to greet the newcomers.

Fortunately, he did not have to wait much longer for his ward to step out from behind the wooden entry door, locking it behind him before raising his dusty brown hood. No one here knew Warren Moon's age; the face and beard his dusty grey robes normally obscured could have been sixty or eighty or even a hundred. The old Sage never seemed to change in appearance or habits, even now regarding his pupil with a blank gaze, expecting him to know, figure out, and make the first move. It was simply his way.

"A fire would be nice, boy", he offered once Destin stared at him without a clue for ten seconds. "What we do tonight has consequences reaching beyond even Zenobia. We musn't allow a single mistake."

"Of course, master", Destin acknowledged, fetching the pumice at once. As he'd been taught, striking the two small, brittle-seeming rocks hard enough together created a spark that became a flame when it struck wood in the fireplace, casting the room's single table and bookshelves into long shadows. Meanwhile, Warren had produced his own little fire from a tiny metal dish he'd produced from his robes, the heat scattering some kind of filmy substance within the dish into a rising cloud of particles. With both men seated at opposite ends of the table, he opened the pouch at his hip again, reaching deeper inward this time.

What he produced would not have been familiar in most regions of the continent, but Destin, gasping in recognition, knew the stack of identical paper slips to be a Tarot Deck; the only one he'd ever seen. "I have performed readings many times with and without you, of course", the sage murmured as he shuffled and organized the cards by routine. "But tonight is a special night, boy, in fact one brought about by such a reading I performed 20 years ago to the day."

Destin looked about, watching the Sage stack the Tarot into piles in an order no one but he fully understood. "I can take a guess. I know you like that. It's the Empire, isn't it? You've finally decided to do something about them."

Warren did not scowl, did not give any verbal indication of irritation, but his pupil felt it all the same when he paused in dealing the cards. "Me, boy? Me, do _something_ about the Zeteginean Empire?" He laughed mockingly, arching one crinkled eyebrow. "Oh, yes. Would you prefer I sink their capital into the ocean or turn the Black Queen into a pygmy? Tarot reading is a delicate, impractical, and often_ imprecise _branch of magic, you foolish child. It is also a dying art- I may be the last practitioner of it left alive today. In fact, that may be our advantage."

Destin fell silent, raising one palm to his chest as an unconscious habit when chatsied. His heart was still just fine. "Alright, what are we here for then?"

Warren sighed in abandon, picking up the top card of the first pile. "Impatient as ever. You'll need to curb that somewhere along the road, or it will spell your doom. The ways of Tarot do not accomplish anything in the _physical_ realm, child. Rather, they offer a brief window into the ever-shifting tides of the future. Through the mists of time all outcomes are possible, but it is through this that we may discern which are most likely and act upon them, steering towards the desirable one like a hidden oasis. I don't expect you to fully understand."

Having settled his pupil down some, he rearranged each pile with spindly hands, talking all the while as he sorted them further. "Now then. Twenty summers ago, I was tasked by King Gran Zenobia's old retinue to perform Tarot readings in search of an outcome in which the lost kingdoms of Zenobia- and by association, the vassal nations Deneuve and Malano- might be freed of their Zeteginean occupiers. A last-ditch effort by them for certain, but for a time that seemed impossible. No such outcome appeared in the cards, and so no actions taken by _anyone _could ever make it happen. Then... _You_ appeared in my readings, child."

Not grasping completely, but able to follow the gist of the goal, he nodded. The Zetegineans. The Highlanders. They were the enemy, invaders from a far-off land in the north who had murdered the rightful king of Zenobia, and by extension the two lands which had been vassals to it. Destin had never seen a Zeteginean. Between his dreams and the tales brought to them from the outside world he pictured them to be bloodthirsty monsters like the Ogres of legend, warped and cruel human offshoots seven feet tall who only lived to punish and kill those not of their kind. "You saved me."

"We did", Warren acknowledged noncommittally. "Because in every reading I made with Empress Endora's defeat as the eventual outcome, _you_ were there. Your role in this tale varied from vision to vision, but one thing was clear: Without destiny's child, the Empire would never fall. It was actually quite astounding", he confessed, at once humble. "Normally Tarot readings are nowhere near that certain. Now twenty summers have gone by, and the tides of fate have shifted about in ways no man can ever know for sure. Twenty summers, and you have grown into a strong warrior- if dense."

Destin didn't balk at the insult. It was simply Warren's way, and the rare compliment before it was more noticeable. "You can thank Lancelot", he told the Sage calmly. "The first time we started training I thought I was going to die, but it worked out in the end."

Warren smiled, not in pleasure but his usual wry amusement at the mistakes of a disciple. "If you had really bonded with him so close, you'd know he hates being called Lancelot. captain Lans Hamilton was the one who asked me to perform the readings back then. Trust me when I say he is more invested in this fate than any other man on the island. Now, then." Without further delays, he passed one of the top cards across to Destin without looking at it. "Let us begin."

Destin was only momentarily thrown- Warren was not adhering to the usual customs for such a reading, usually managing three piles by himself without a partner. _Well, he did say tonight was special. _He carefully lifted the card, quickly recognizing it from all the readings he had been present for; the ones that had nothing to do with him. "Number seventeen, The Star arcana. Represents insight and intuition when right-side up."

"Well practised", Warren remarked, gesturing out the window not to the orange lights, but to the far dimmer ones far above them. "There is a lucky star scheduled to come by tonight, you know. What would you wish for?"

Destin thought hard. A Tarot reading did not normally include questions, but in this case he could consider it a hypothetical exercise. "I wish for victory in our attempt to rid this land of the Zeteginean scourge." It had to be what their guests were here for, despite the Sage's protests to the contrary.

"I see...", Warren noted, palming and passing another facedown card down the way. "Try this one then."

"Number ten, The Wheel of Fortune", the man identified the new card by its strange artwork. "Represents luck, change, karma... The eternally-changing ways of fortune."

"Indeed it is, and so you ask for your fortunes to point to victory this night.", Warren consoled him, hand massaging his beard in thought. "Yes, it is sometimes said that victory is really nothing but luck... What do you think luck is?"

This was not so simple to answer, and Destin knew from experience that Warren disliked impulsive solutions. _What __**is**__ luck? Certainly we know of mystical factors that can alter probability in one's favor, but what harnesses this elusive factor? _"Luck decides the outcome of a trivial footrace or drinking contest", he decided with confidence, "Destiny decides the outcome of battles."

The third card gave him pause as well; a tall, skeletal figure wielding a wicked scythe taller than it was. His heart dropped. "The Death arcana", he whispered bleakly. "Number Thirteen." _Is that the outcome? Will this be my death?_

Seeing his face falling, Warren waved the grim omen away petulantly. "The Death Tarot is representative of Change, Passage, or Transformation, child. It does not necessarily mean there will be Death in your future, though I fail to see how you'll proceed without causing a great deal of it." Taking a deep breath, he stared into the card. "But on the other hand, there are no easy voyages here. _Anything_ could happen. Who would you be willing to lose to see this through? Would you accept _Lans' _death for the cause? Your own? Mine?"

"My own life is a fair payment", the young man claimed after only a moment's indecision. "Warren... When you found me I had nothing. No clothes, no language, _nothing_. I could not even remember my own name- you had to give me one. If my death could free our people, then I can offer it with a whole heart. My life here is already more than I might have had otherwise."

"Well spoken", Warren observed neutrally, revealing nothing about what _he_ considered to be the right choice... If there was a 'right' choice. "Have another, martyr."

"Number six", Destin spoke, raising the fourth card in deep thoughts of his own. "The Lovers. Affection, communication, decisions. Does this mean... What I think it means?"

"All outcomes are possible in time", Warren admonished him. "This may occur _during_ the campaign, or long afterwards. Were it so, I am curious; what trait would you most desire in a life partner?"

He stared into the Tarot as if probing it for answers. While he'd certainly noticed strange reactions to some of the less deformed women on Warren's isle as they became a routine part of his body and mind, he had yet to encounter the powerful urges older men spoke of in stories about their dearest lovers or wives. In those same stories however, a warning was usually carried about the danger of women who possessed beauty the Gods could scarcely dream of, yet held the minds and souls of demons within. "Purity", he replied at last. "A loyal one who will never betray or mislead me."

"Quaint, and common enough", was all Warren could think of to say to that, feeling the solemnity of his pledge too much to insult it as he normally did. "Just one more, then."

This one actually took a moment to recognize, but when it clicked Destin's heart sank for a second time. "The Fool? You slipped this one in, didn't you?"

The old Sage laughed before assuming a completely serious visage towards the last card, which depicted a capering jester in saggy purples. "Never. To rig the last reading would render _all _of it meaningless. Although, that truly_ is _the card most fitting for you right now. Arcana Number Zero. Infinite possibilities. A new beginning... And a bark of warning."

Not sure whether to be insulted or not, Destin frowned at the card. "A warning?"

"_Yes_, Destin", Warren confirmed, his use of his pupil's name a clear indication to him of just how seriously he was taking this. "A warning. This venture is a massive rock dropped in an ocean of possibilities, which will change the lives of every person in Zeteginea and Zenobia for better or worse. It will change you, face you and others with choices and prospects never dreamed of before... And not all of the victorious outcomes are pleasant ones."

He blinked. "What do you mean? Do we_ all _die saving Zenobia?"

The seer shook his head, remembering the child's naivete. "A possibility amongst thousands of others. But there are worse outcomes than that in the cards, child, _far_ worse. The mists of the future are thickest here; I cannot give you any prediction without changing the outcome. All I can ask of you is that you stay true to yourself, and always remember why we convened here tonight."

Taking up the five cards and examining each in turn, destiny's child slid the hand back towards the seer. "You shall have that and more."

"Truly? Do you mean it?"

He nodded, setting his mouth in a firm line. "I shan't disappoint you. I am _not _afraid."

Back to his usual self, Warren did not smile at the bravado, only pulled his hood back up to conceal everything but the grim, grey eyes which saw all possibilities. "Not yet."

* * *

All through the night, the men and women gathered in the modest foyer of Warren's castle. Three long tables had been prepared and arranged with a mighty feast like none Volzak had ever seen, but as more guests arrived it soon became apparent that even this measure would not be enough to hold all of them. The excess visitors settled themselves up on the second floor's walkways, not caring when they spilled food or wine upon others below them. At the far end of the hall lay a broad stone dais that had once held a throne, and from that dais the lord of Volzak surveyed his guests and friends.

"Ninety-six", the Sage finished counting, turning to face a man entirely covered in armour. It was old armour, to be sure, with all but small patches of the silver shine it had once bore faded to dismal grey. Captain Lancelot ap Hamilton wore the suit religously, the same way he shaved his beard every morning and, as some rumors spoke, several other regions as well. That he was alive after so long indicated him to be either a coward or uncommonly skilled. Warren, however, had long since ceased to be impressed by the tin-plated zealot standing beside him. "You brought _ninety six _people, Lans. Some of these idiots don't look like they could kill a drunken pig, nevermind a soldier."

"I didn't wish to leave anyone out of it. They all deserve to be a part of history in the making.", the knight replied stiffly, again reminding his friends just how devoted he was to restoring the kingdom he had once served. For some of the men sucking down mead and grapes before them, the Empire had always been. The days when Zenobia had had a royal family were firmly encsonced in myth, and scarcely something worth laying down one's life for.

Not for Lans. Over twenty four years of setbacks and betrayals he'd led the remnants of the kingdom's old guard, holding them together through force of will. A few ragged veterans of his small group were amongst the crowd, for once able to leave their armor and relax, soothing their growing ages with comfort and camaraderie as their leader never could until his liege was avenged.

"Fair enough", Warren gave in, throwing up his hands. "At least Fubuki and Blaine's bands came. For a time I thought you'd turned them away."

Making sure neither of the aforementioned mercenary leaders saw him, Lans spat off to one side of the dais to avert evil. "Only by your insistence, I assure you. Such riffraff have only one loyalty."

"We need them, Lans", his friend pressed, watching as the white-haired Blaine ap Diwrnach ripped into a pork chop in a manner that made one forget that he was a magician by trade. "Mayhap the idiots will learn a thing or two from them before they die." At the next table over, Selec Fubuki contented himself with a collection of turnip shavings and beans, nearly unrecognizable without the sunset red samurai armor and mask that was his more famous 'face'.

Despite Fubuki's loud reluctance to get involved in something so deeply personal, Warren did not need a Tarot reading to tell that these skilled mercenaries and the veteran killers they oversaw would be badly needed in the days ahead. Moreover, if_ they _didn't get them the Empire eventually would once things got hot enough. Lans was much too picky to be much of an effective recruiter, though he certainly had the energy to bombard someone with lectures about loyalty and honour until they give in just to shut him up.

"And here we have a group from the Order of Roshian", Lans changed the subject, pointing to the far left table where a handful of petite young women in identical blue and white robes were justified in keeping themselves apart from the rest of the gathering. Many still bearing freckles, all of them showed some degree of nervousness or even giggling excitement at being here, but Lans personally knew the stern old cleric who was supervising them. So long as Sister Yenda was conscious, they would not get into any trouble.

"A good decision", Warren acknowledged grudgingly. He'd never seen much use in the Roshian sect, personally. "They may be forbidden by their order to kill, but their talents will be helpful regardless", he sighed. "I just wish they were a little older, but with most of the real priests convened on Avalon I guess that's not happening. What about the Wind Rider?"

Lans visibly sagged. "No sightings. Perhaps he's dead."

"Nonsense. No dragon or griffin could catch him. Ah, well", the Sage clasped his hands in hope. "I suppose this sorry rabble will have to do. Make yourself useful and go fetch Destin, will you?"

With the captain gone, Warren stood on the upraised portion of the dais and cleared his throat. When no one paid him any attention, he threw an old lantern to the floor, the noise of its shattering finally quieting the ruckus.

"Better", the castle's lord remarked snidely, speaking now to the entire assemblage. "Well. I believe we all know why we're here... Because Lancelot forced you."

Peals of laughter rose up to him. As expected, the rare food and drink had gotten everyone comfortable and ready to listen to a withered old man for at least ten minutes. "But of course, anyone who knows him knows our purpose here tonight. You've all been called here to answer the call and form the second Zenobian Revolutionary Army. To liberate your homeland, Zenobia, from the rule of the Empire. Many of you may be wondering... _Why_?"

Certain he'd caught the skeptics now, he paced about and changed direction with each postulation, a ridiculous-seeming figure in his dusty robes. "Is it not too late for such action? What do the Empire's abuses of its citizenry have to do with independent warriors such as yourselves? With the Royal family all dead, would a revolution not plunge this kingdom into anarchy? So much death for such little gain! Is it really all worth it? Do we mean it? Do we truly mean it? Why do I follow you?"

Silence from his audience. With Lans here he would never have been able to ask these questions without making him angry. After a long pause, Warren rapped his walking stick on the masonry for each counterpoint.

"_Yes_. Yes, I say it is. For one, the Empire is currently tied up with the invasion of another realm to their north. Their standing armies are weaker than they have been in decades, as any of you fools have been paying attention could tell. For two, I can see in the eyes of quite a few of you thugs that the years have been long, with the pickings growing slimmer and slimmer as resistance breaks down. A new war can satisfy both your lusts, for we will most certainly not be expecting you to fight for free. For three, even the blind among you know the way the Empire runs its districts. Repression. Poverty. Crime. Disease. These things keep the people of Zenobia in line and alive, but I must ask you, is that truly all there is to living?"

No response, but they hadn't tuned him out yet. A good sign. Fingering his beard, Warren turned serious. "Before I start sounding too much like Lans, let me say that we do not fight this rebellion out of loyalty to a long-deceased king- though for some of us that may be a worthy goal- but for the welfare of our lands and our children as they are today. Today, when a long-oppressed kingdom lies before you and destiny at your backs. So I ask you: Will you fight?"

They didn't seem to catch on what to do next until a young squire of Volzak stood in the back row and gave an emphatic nod to his lord. Several others not of Volzak followed suit, and gradually entire tablefuls rose in indechipherable murmuring. Still seated amidst a dozen or more supporters, Selec Fubuki raised his sharp, impudent voice: "And just _who_ shall be leading us into this battle, Warren of Moon? You? Lancelot?"

More laughter answered him, this time much of it the mocking kind. Warren, however, didn't miss a beat. He'd known from the start that the mercenary leaders would be the hardest to get on board. "I'm glad you asked, sir Fubuki. I present to you the warrior who is prophecied to lead this rebellion to victory. Destiny's child! But you may simply call him Destin."

With a flourish he hobbled off, leaving Lans to escort a startled Destin onto the dais' upraised section, wearing his customary lightweight red and white armor and helmet. The sight of two hundred expectant eyes nearly turned the young man to jelly right off, but somehow he held, simply waving to the assembly. "Um. Hello."

Not one of them was impressed, and Fubuki rose from his seat in ire. "A child? You expect a _child_ to lead us? I was told this was a serious matter _Sage_, not a comedy." His retinue murmured their agreement.

Standing off to one side, Warren was unmoved. "By all means, then", he offered, extending his staff towards Destin. "If any of you feel this man lacks the skills or the experience to lead us, then put him to the test. Better yet, if anyone is able to_ defeat _him, then_ they _shall be named leader. Well, Fubuki?"

It was a low blow, for the grand majority of their guests had not brought their weapons or armour in with them, and many of those who had were too drunk to fight a duel. Everyone knew this, and while the Samurai mercenary leader looked as though he was about to challenge Destin to combat without his armour or even a blade, he grudgingly stepped down as well. Behind his head, Warren clasped both hands on his staff and chanted a handful of arcane words beyond most men's ability to pronounce. Pointing the staff towards Destin, he shocked everyone in the great hall by unleashing a blast of fire the size of a man's head towards him, sizzling the air as it went.

Destin ap Neb watched the glowing sphere of flame approach in calm, thinking at once of the boat lights. In the final moment, he raised the sword Lans had been training him with before him, taking the fire on its steel edge and struggling for only a moment before he pushed the sword forward with both gloved hands, turning the fireball into nothing but a lingering sense of heat in the air.

"There are many things I've yet to learn about the World", he admitted solemnly to the crowd, which had regained its suspension of disbelief at his trick with Warren's fireball. "But the same holds true for all men. What I _do_ know is that our homeland of Zenobia has suffered for twenty-four summers under Zeteginean rule, its many customs and religions and magic slowly digested by the Empire's regimen, even as it molds our children into its obedient slaves. That is twenty four summers too long, in my opinion. And so tomorrow, we shall set out on the boats and strike at the shores of the Sharom District, the weakest link in the Empire's hold on our kingdom. What say you, my friends?"

Again, the change in stance towards what Fubuki had taken as a joke took some time to be felt. The squires and other natives of Volzak held themselves apart, waiting as intructed by their lord for some of the others to make the first steps. Finally, Blaine ap Diwrnach stood, and his men stood with him. "At the very least, we owe you for dinner", he claimed with an impish grin that belied his true age. "Count us in."

That was the start of it, and others soon rose to follow him. The Roshian delegation strode down the tables towards him bearing their staffs. Servants of the warriors he'd wooed accompanied their masters to the dais bearing weapons and armor.

Until each and every one of them, Fubuki's band included, stood with their leader.

* * *

Volzak lacked the space to bed the rebel army and Destin, wishing to set a selfless example, offered his bed to Blaine Diwrnach while he camped out under the stars in a grassy field just outside. In some ways this was better, as the lingering noises of the party would not reach him here. Lans, along with his unit of veterans, made the same offer afterwards, and found their leader lying face-up in the field with both arms folded behind his head, beholding the night with a child's innocence.

"What is it like, Lancelot?", he asked the captain once he'd detected them walking up.

Devoid of his face-concealing helmet for once, Lans frowned. "Don't call me Lancelot. What is what like, lad?"

"Zenobia. Saying those things about it is all well and good, but it reminded me that I've never actually been there. I don't remember anything before this island."

"Aye", the knight captain's loyal second-in-command, Bors, admitted regretfully, looking down on the man's splayed form and remembering when they'd met. The knight had lost his right ear to an enemy's blade some years past, but his remaining one remained acute as ever. "Can't blame ye for that. T'was not a kind day when we found ye."

Lans knelt down in the grass beside him, leg joints clanking. "Warren would label us all sentimental fools", he remarked absently. "For Zenobia is the only land that we have ever known. Is it beautiful compared to Malano? Is it vast compared to Deneuve? Is it rich compared to the Highlands? For those born to this land, it is all of that and more; it is home. There are grasslands, Destin, far as the eye can see. There are mighty mountains stretched to the skies where exotic beasts dwell, and river systems coursing with life's blood. Every region has a castle built by my liege from which to govern it, and not even the Empire was heartless enough to tear those fine works down, for they make good fortresses."

He paused, debating on whether he should continue. "There is magic here too, founts and ley lines of magic that has disappeared from much of the rest of the world over time. Outside of Zenobia, Warren would not have been able to create a fireball even half the size of the one he conjured for you tonight, and he has practiced those skills for the duration of his long life, from back when every man and woman knew magic and obeyed its natural laws. It's all fading, Destin, and I'd bet my helmet that the thrice-damned Empire has something to do with it. But then the sword, not sorcery, is my place to understand... If you want definitive proof, ask the Sage."

Not moving his head, the newly-minted rebel leader watched a comet streak by, trying with all his might to picture the kingdom they'd be assailing tomorrow. "It sounds impossible to describe with any justice."

"T'is", the old knight assured him piously. "There is only one Zenobia, and there was only one ruler who ever did it proper in living memory. King Gran. So the Empire killed him. Executed his entire family, down to the youngest child, to eliminate any possible heirs." He rapped one arm against his metal-clad chest for emphasis, and only after he spoke did Destin realize he was tapping his heart. "For twenty four years, my men and I have only lived to see these crimes avenged, even if the rest of the kingdom has forgotten. You are our best chance. Our _only_ chance. Ten years more down that wretched new calendar they've created and all the young men will have grown up indoctrinated under Imperial rule, unaware that any better government ever existed." He shuddered and spat at the horrible vision. "We must not fail this time."

Rolling over, Destin clasped the mesh gauntlet sternly, eyes locked as he'd been taught to do when speaking from the heart. People who couldn't look you in the eye when they spoke were hiding something. "We shan't. We will win, no matter the cost. Zenobia will be freed, and no Zeteginean will ever lay eyes upon its beauty again. I promise."

Sensing the honesty in that promise only a child could manage, Lans smiled. "Good man. But for now, we must rest. There's a big day ahead of us."

Maybe the biggest one ever.

* * *

"So it begins then", Warren Moon considered from the window of his study, a wide space that nevertheless had more in the way of scrolls than books. Seeing the glimmering stars above, he gave a soft chuckle at how pretentious it all seemed, even if it was the truth. "That this pitiful gathering of lowlifes and vagabond might become Zenobia's last hope... Hard to believe. How often in life are we made witness to such a critical juncture?"

For that was one thing Lans had been correct about. If action was not taken soon, nothing short of a cataclysm sent by the Gods could undo the effects of twenty four years under the Empire. _Imperial indoctrination_, he noted wryly,_ as opposed to the Monarchist indoctrination we had before, that the king is our land's only true conduit to the Gods and thus must be obeyed, as must all those of his bloodline. In a way, we are fortunate to have had a benevolent martyr such as Gran at that time. Another King Marcus would make this even harder to sell, _he considered to himself, wincing at the memory of Gran's anemic precessor, who he himself had helped unseat in favor of his younger cousin more than fifty years ago.

Even so, some might yet make the case that the Zetegian government was more efficient and fair than Gran or Marcus in many better-off places such as Antioch or Kasolat. Warren, however, needed only compare his memories of old Zenobia with the current one to know in his heart which side he favoured. On a purely aesthetic view the people of Zenobia and the Zeteginian Highlanders were really not so different from another. The Highlanders being perhaps a touch more spartan and better adjusted to colder climates and inhospitable regions, while the Zenobians more prone to close-knit communities and farming villages in isolated flats divided by mountain ranges and rivers.

From the very moment that King Gran's family had been killed however, a gaping rift had been torn between them, so that only governors of Zenobian blood could retain control of a district for more than a week without being assassinated. For twelve years the people would simply not accept any level of Zeteginean authority, necessitating the violent purges and riot suppression that had followed. The grudges were deepened further but the lessons were learned: To cross the Empire was to court death. Worse yet, many of the powerful warriors it summoned to exact these suppressions had come to enjoy the slaughter.

Of particular ill-repute had been the Empress Endora's own son and only heir, Prince Gares, who took to wearing the foreboding armour of the ancient order of Black Knights that concealed his winsome features underneath a metal visage that revealed no emotion. No Imperial had more Zenobian blood on his hands, and no Zeteginean had demonstrated less remorse for the killings that had occurred in those days. Idly, Warren wondered for a moment what the Black Knight was doing right now. Training, perhaps? Hunting wild game in the Highlands, so far from where a whole new war was about to break out? Or perhaps he'd gone to join the invasion force to the north, no longer content with slaying helpless prey?

Remembering that handsome youth he'd seen butchering Zenobian soldiers at the capital, Warren tightened his grip on his staff and forced himself not to hate the man. Gares Endora was, after all, only following the edicts of his nation. That he turned out to enjoy it was an unhappy coincidence. No, it was his fellow Sage Rashidi who was truly responsible for the greatest bloodshed, though hardly ever directly. Who would have suspected one of the legendary heroes of the 5 Kingdoms war of such treachery? Who would have doubted his word when he had served under the equally legendary Gran for ten years without any sign? And, who would have disregarded _his_ word over the prophecies of a far less-accomplished Sage, who had chosen to make the most obscure and finicky branch of magic his main focus?

The answer to all of these was 'no one', and the results lay before him. The old Moon Sage did not blame Gran or anyone else for not believing what he'd seen coming back then. _ Rashidi_. It was all Rashidi's doing. The legendary Sage of Light had a greater hand in creating the Empire than any other, betraying his oaths and scattering the rest of his order with military power.

Bah. Enough reminiscing on the past. His past was dead and his future, as ever, was uncertain. He would bide his time, let events unfold as fortune willed. It was simply his way. The path of the Sage was not meant to be one of war, but of guidance. No one else could plot out the many roads that now lay open to the second Zenobian Revolutionary Army, and he owed it to them to steer their inexperienced leader away from those paths which led to disaster.

"Nothing is certain in this yet", he reminded himself at the card table, shuffling, looking over each portent and card. Going back over the countless Tarot readings he'd performed in regards to the rebellion, he sorted through it absently, his mind elsewhere. "Zenobia's future- and by extension the future of the rest of this world- remains remains clouded, and destiny's child but a dim guiding light."

_"And yet still... The Arcana is the means by which all is revealed. So let the games begin."_


	3. Beginning

**Beginning**

**

* * *

**

**Tarot I - Magician**

_Traveling on his way, the Fool first encounters a Magician. Skillful, self-confident, a powerful magus with the infinite as a halo floating above his head, the Magician mesmerizes the Fool. When asked, the Fool gives over his bundled pack and stick to the Magician. Raising his wand to heaven, pointing his finger to Earth, the Magician calls on all powers; magically, the cloth of the pack unfolds upon the table, revealing its contents. And to the Fool's eyes it is as if the Magician has created the future with a word. All the possibilities are laid out, all the directions he can take. The cool, airy Sword of intellect and communication, the fiery Wand of spirituality and ambition, the overflowing Chalice of Love and emotions, the solid Pentacle of work, possessions and body. With these tools, the Fool can create anything, make anything of his life. But here's the question, did the Magician create the tools, or were they already in the pack? Only the Magician knows - and on this mystery, our eloquent mage refuses to say a word__._

_

* * *

_

Governor Usar ap Ferghus belched loudly and blessed his luck. Every now and then he recovered enough from the elation of eating or killing to thank the stars for the hand he'd been dealt. Certainly baums better than any other Zenobian's lot, that was for sure. _ No regrets_.

He had Castle Jindark, a plain but strong two-story bastion for the men under his command. Before him lay a platter of juicy fruits and meats it must have taken the servants days to assemble and cook. The weekend feast was always deliberately made too big for any of the men he called to Jindark for it to finish, nominally leaving a full half of it to be given over to his ample palate and washed down with some great booze some asshole down in Elrum knew how to make.

Yet none of the men under his command would ever consider Usar ap Ferghus to be out of shape beneath his great grey beard and horned helmet. Beside the fact that he'd have their guts for lunch over a comment like that, it simply wasn't true. What he lacked in finesse he made up for with raw muscle, wielding a coal-black flail that took two of his servants just to lift the iron ball and chain. True, he hadn't had much chance to use the mighty weapon on real targets as of late, but there were always a few vocal idiots whom they could take out behind the castle and practice on. Usar missed the days when those people had gone in believing they were in for nothing worse than twenty lashes. Now everyone in Sharom kept quiet, and knew that anyone taken to Jindark wasn't coming back without a really big skull fracture. It was, after all, the best way to keep them in line.

The only downside to this method was that news had spilled over to the men and women employed as servants at Jindark, he noted as he tore into a leg of lamb, letting the juices squirt down into his beard. The mousy servant girl who had brought it darted back out as fast as her little legs would carry her, clearly frightened of Usar. No servant wanted to spend long around him in the course of their duties, and they traded up on those that forced them to stay close. It was getting to be so he couldn't even pay one of the cute little servant girls to part their legs for him as he'd done in the past, and that was a damned shame to be sure.

This one, though, wandered back in shortly after he finished the Malanian port. Visible disgust was on her face, but she was patient enough to wait for him to finish belching again. Mayhap she'd be willing to keep him warm tonight for a few upgrades to her meagre salary. "Governor Usar", she prodded nervously, fingers locked into knots against her maid's outfit. "There are some... Men... Here to see you."

Not sure if she was joking, he patted his belly hard and chuckled. "More specific, love! What's the deal? Are they tax collectors? Protestors? Solicitors? Send 'em down to the basement and I'll get to killing 'em in a second!"

"Um, no. They say they're from the Empire."

Miraculously, he held in the mouthful of port. Painfully swallowing it down, he hastily donned his helmet and sat up. "Well? See 'em in then! Dumb broad!"

She didn't balk at the insult, having grown accustomed to it by now, simply ducked out of the dining hall to return with a pair of bearded men in green robes, though neither of them compared to his massive curtain for they were still relatively young for that. Both lay their staffs against the far wall before sitting opposite the governor. "You guys better not be beggars", Usar joked comfortably. "Have a bite, it's on me. What's the word?"

Neither of the apprentice wizards laughed or touched the food. "The word is _rebellion_, Governor", one of them proclaimed, and here Usar noticed that they could have easily been twins. "We have it on good authority that there is a new Zenobian rebellion coming soon."

This time, he _did_ spit the port, not out of simple shock but laughter. "_Again_? After last time? What's this, the fifth one now? C'mon guys, you're pulling my chain here."

"It is _not _a joke", the other wizard insisted. "The spies assure us this is no simple band of filthy peasants this time, but a true army the size of the one from twelve years ago. Possibly bigger. They've hired mercenaries, brought underage boys away from the mainland to train them as soldiers before they were drafted as per our regulations. There's a small sisterhood missing from the congregation. All factors point to your half of Sharom as their first target, governor."

"Oh no", he commented in deadpan. "Teenage farm boys with swords and a bunch of eunchs. I'm quivering in my boots. Who's leading them then, hm? I thought all the Zenobian knights were dead by now, 'cept me."

The twins looked at each other warily before the first one spoke. "That is... Unconfirmed. We know next to nothing about this mystery leader, which is part of why we were sent to warn you."

"Warning noted. Now would you care to pack a lunch before you go?"

Finally annoyed past diplomacy, one of the wizards brought a fist down on the table. "You'd do well not to ignore this, _governor. _The Empress has not forgotten how you first came into our service. Failure will not be tolerated."

Usar gave a belly laugh. "I'm _pretty_ sure that wasn't a threat, pal. If it was, it needs work. But, let's say you're right. When I'm done here, I'll let the levies know about it. They'll drive the idiots back to whatever backwater island they came from and you can all stop pissing your loins over it. Happy?"

The other twin sighed, now aware that they weren't going to convince him to make any further preparations. Usar ap Ferghus had always lived in the moment with no regrets, and so far it had gotten him all he'd ever wanted out of life. "I suppose that will have to do. But don't come running to the other provinces if fortune turns against you, governor. You won't like the results."

This warning did not change the former knight's activities either as he gripped the last bunch of grapes with a greasy hand. "You guys must be tired from your trip out here. How's about we fix you up with a couple of the broads we keep around for tonight, and we'll call it even? Whatcha say?"

The first twin scowled and pushed up his hood to signify the conversation's end, even if they would not be leaving until tomorrow. "I say good-bye, and ill-fortune to ye, _haaswein._"

"Hey hey, lady fortune was great in bed last night!", Usar called after him, refusing to be angered by the Highlander's derogatory term for Zenobians, instead smirking as he watched the other one leave the hall. Bravado aside, once he had finished the rest of the meat and sobered up alone in his hall the idea of a new rebellion seemed like actually something worth taking action against. _Especially if... No. He can't have survived. I'll end this farce before it starts, and then I'll reap the benefits. No regrets._

Svastpoli was the first to fall. A simple, walled coastal city, it seemed unusually calm and sedate in the early morning, and aside from the occasional soldier there was little indication of the place's fealty. Only longtime residents, career fishermen or mariners mostly, would inform any who asked that their home had been a better place twenty four years past, more often than not punctuating their explanation with unprintables.

All the same, fish was fish, even if a hefty portion of every catch from the bay was siphoned off to supply the Imperial armies and a tax had been created for any use of the docks. Word of far greater grievances visited on other lands had reached the populace's ears and kept them away from rebellion out of fear, as was the case with many of the cities within Zenobia's once-prosperous Sharom district. So it was that when a group of men in cloaks and Zenobian armour beneath walked down the main street towards the town square, no one thought the worse of it.

"Depressing", Lans remarked beneath his cowl and helmet once they'd gathered there. "Not only have they lost all will to resist, but the Empire's dogs have become so used to it they cannot even imagine that Fortune might one day shift the other way. What shall we do, sir Destin?"

Realizing that he had nary spoken a word since shorefall, so absorbed by the sights of Sharom, Destin pulled his hood back and regarded the square. While mostly barren and featureless, the quartet of symmetrical arches built to identify the square as a meeting site still stood, and at their centre lay an upraised flag on a dais. Flapping in the breeze, it bore the same insignia of regal reds and silvers that had decorated the harbour and main gate in several places, the clearest sign of any city, town or castle's allegiance. A stylized Valkyrie upon a background of feathers fallen about it like snow, instantly bringing to mind the stories of the mythical battle maidens whom the Highlanders had long modelled their best female troops after. The symbol of the Zeteginean Empire.

"Not yet", he ordered, seeing Lans' first instinct to simply tear it down. This had to be an equally symbollic act to match, a dramatic one, or few here would even notice that anything had changed, but it was also important to do it with a minium of damage if possible. Instead, his eyes drifted towards the parliamentary building at the aperture of the north corner, itself decorated with a smaller Zeteginean flag. The city's deputy mayors came and went, but nowadays they had little real power. Some of the real city guards were starting to get curious now, but Destin's mind was made up. Taking Lans and Bors with him, he strode into the shingled structure without hesitation.

They found the deputy mayor at breakfast, a balding man missing several teeth wearing a black coat and vest. Seeing the three armored men, his first instinct was to withdraw to the farthest corner, trembling as he tried to digest a bit of tuna. "S...Sirs! We did not expect another visit so soon! How many I serve you?"

"By taking back what is rightfully yours", Lans rumbled beneath his cowl before anyone could cut him off. "Look at you, Orinas. You sit here in your office whittling the days away until the Empire replaces you with one more puppet."

Orinas dropped his fork. "Lans? Is that really you?"

The captain did not answer, but his silence was enough. Remembering now how angry he'd been the last time they'd met, the deputy stood up and clenched the table. "Glad as I am to see you still alive, you should not have come back here, Lancelot. It's finished. No one here is willing to lay down their lives for a lost cause, and the boys who might were taken away mere hours ago."

More out of shock than anger at the mayor's snide attitude, Lans brought his gauntlet down on the table. _So, there was a spy. The governor knew we were coming, just not where._

"Finished?", Destin took over for him, stepping forward so Orinas could see his youthful face and armor better. "Over? Honoured sir... It's only just begun. We are the second Zenobian Revolutionary Army, come to restore the power of the crown of Zenobia. All we ask of you is that you keep to the oaths you took to serve this country's people to the best of your abilities."

"You're an army of three", Orinas returned. "We're all used to Lancelot's rabble-rousing by now boy, and you would do well not to follow him to your death."

"It's _not Lancelot_", the captain grunted back acidly. "And we are not an army of three. Come outside and see for yourself. If you're not too busy with your eggs and fish, of course."

Perhaps sensing how close Lans was to violence, Orinas sat up and followed. Outside, seven more hooded figures were listening to a guard captain about Destin's age going on about how careless it was for them to have forgotten their standard. How was any man supposed to tell whether they were friend or foe, he scolded one of Destin's men, if they did not bring them? Especially now, with rumors of rebellion flying high once again.

The rumor paced down the stairs with mayor Orinas, and the guard captain smiled, plucking at his beard with one hand. "Ah. Finally, your superior. I only hope he's more helpful. Ah, you there! Yes! You command this sorry lot?"

Stepping away from Orinas, Destin nodded. "I do."

"Well, what's your damned business here? And for that matter, where's your bloody standard, eh?"

"My apologies", Destin said, rummaging in his pouch for a moment. "I must have forgotten to put it on... Ah! Here it is!"

"A poor example you're setting, man", the Imperial captain chided him, "none of your men were wearing theirs either. I know it seems a bit unnecessary these days but- WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?"

His double take referred to the small armband Destin had now withdrawn and wrapped about his left arm. He'd never seen a standard like it. A bright blue instead of red, with gold shades instead of silver depicting a lion- Gran's symbol. Looking back at the cloaked soldiers, he saw they'd followed their leader's example and donned their own blue bands on whichever arm was not their sword arm. By the time the handful of Imperial solders who had wandered by to watch the confrontation caught on, Lans had buried his sword within the captain's gut.

"New ownership, captain", the old knight sneered. "We thought it would be best to ease the transition."

The Imperial captain fell, vomiting blood. As one, the other seven rebels they'd brought with them removed their own hoods and cloaks, revealing among their numbers Selec Fubuki and Blaine Diwrnach. These two alone were enough to make the Imperial soldiers run, and Destin forbade his men from pursuing them.

For now, there was the matter of Svastpoli to attend to. Slowly climbing the central archway, Destin carefully removed the red imperial flag, replacing it with the sky-blue lion banner of Gran Zenobia. As he'd hoped, the spectacle and subsequent execution had drawn the attention of many men and women besides Orinas, now numbering more than the soldiers they'd scared off.

"PEOPLE OF SVASTPOLI!", he shouted to them in the 'broadcast' voice he'd long practised. "For twenty four long years have you suffered under the yoke of foreign conquerors. They have killed our lord, stolen our sons and daughters, sapped the spirit from our lands and cities in the name of their own power! But today, here and now, YOU are the first to bear witness to the breaking of the dawn! I, Destin, General of the second Zenobian Revolutionary Army, do hereby pledge to restore the Zenobian crown to its former glory! I decree LIBERATION!" With that he jumped down from the arch, bringing with him the chime of the town's bell. Its ringing pealed outwards, a wake up call to all unaware of what was going on.

For a moment, none of them moved. Many, Orinas included, were inclined to believe it was all a dream, a farce, a stage play. Even a decoy demonstration to rout out Zenobian loyalists. Yet it was Lans Hamilton's face which confirmed it. Lans, whose insistent attempts at defeating the Empire's puppet governors, whose dogged persistence and rotten luck had left him a joke in most reaches of Zenobia, would never take part in a false demonstration. It was all real, and as people realized this they broke into a cheer, crowding around the eleven warriors and the equally ecstatic mayor. "LIBERATION! LIBERATION! LIBERATION! LONG LIFE TO GRAN!"

The cheers felt good. Loud, but good. While the truth remained that for the time being control would be left in the hands of the deputy mayors- the ones that cooperated anyway- due to a lack of a true municipal authority, this dramatic gesture would still be enough to inflame the hearts of nearly all Zenobians no matter who was chosen to perform it, for even now the rest of the Imperial flags were being torn down by enthusiastic peasants who hadn't stopped to consider what Liberation truly meant. Today, they were happy, and that rush of initial elation was far more than anything they'd been offered under the Empire.

Across the way he could see Lans tearing up and concealing with his helmet's visor, the most grateful of all of them that Zenobia's spirit had not yet been fully extinguished as some had feared. These were folk who had lived under a regime that all too often made its disdain for its vassals evident, and had been told stories by their parents of the glory days of Gran. They would no more fail to embrace the chance to change things than they would sever their own wrists, and Destin vowed- to himself this time- that they would be rewarded for every bit of loyalty to their cause.

The rebellion had begun.

* * *

"I don't like this", Fubuki announced to his men as they marched across the west riverbank towards the next town. They might have moved faster, but they'd already been instructed once not to get too far ahead of the other divisions, all of which were currently saddled down with young fools unused to marching. Like their 'glorious' leader, the greens never failed to exhaust his patience. Some folks were just not suited for warfare.

Fingering his dark eye patch, his second in command chuckled without looking back. "How fortuitous. Let us present this awe-inspiring news to Warren Moon and be on our way."

Underneath his metal face mask, Fubuki scowled. "It's no joke, Li. If it is, it's a bad one. Our dear leader learned _today_ that armies don't carry piss-pots with them. Had to wait ten minutes for him to get used to doing his business in the wild, another two for Lancelot to tell him to spit in it."

Not breaking step, Liat shifted left, allowing them to continue talking far enough away from the rest of the group. While Fubuki's men would not care what their bosses discussed- and would break from the rebellion on their word alone- even they had not been immune to their leadership's pressed need to mix-and-match. While not as bad as some, they'd been given a blue robed cleric from the Roshian sisterhood, an unnaturally short girl named Emily Cashel.

She hadn't said a word all day. While Liat freely admitted both he and his boss were imposing figures in their armour, with Fubuki's dark red making him look covered in blood already in the proper light and his own black little better, clearly she would have been just as timid around Lans or Blaine's bunch. She didn't belong in the company of grizzled, veteran warriors and it showed. At least she'd had the sense to keep her head down and march at a clip approaching the brisk pace of the rest of them, or else Fubuki might have simply left her behind.

"We were all green once", he offered peaceably. "And you know as well as I do it's not merely that which drove this blade into your ass, _shai-raa._"

"Well spotted", Fubuki admitted, for once pulling his mask up to reveal a hardened face. "Why are we doing this? These people are so Gods-damned proud they would cut their own noses off to spite their faces. Two weeks, and we'll be dead or wanted."

"I'll be", his comrade-in-arms walked aghast. "Is Selec Fubuki of the Order doubting his abilities? Saints be praised."

"One man cannot turn the tide of a war", the other Samurai maintained. "And when that happens, you know what we'll be obligated to do."

"Aye", Liat nodded, for once solemn. "Yet this is the lifestyle of the mercenary. You take the jobs you're paid for. It doesn't mix well with our Order."

"We might have joined the Empire. They aren't recruiting now, but they will be soon as we make our first strike."

"And again our careers are at odds there", Liat contended. "They pay _mouse scraps, _expecting us all to fight for free like their Valkyries. Don't worry, I know Warren Moon. He would not have asked his tin-plated attack dog to pick us up if he hadn't money to pay us. And he would not have started this whole fiasco if he did not believe victory was possible. Besides, Prochon's up in power. Join the Empire and you just might wake up with a kunai in your back."

That was a _tu'quta_ for Liat, or a 'solid strike'. The mention of the leader of their rival Order got Fubuki's mind back to the rebels' fortunes. "All the more reason for me to take command. We still couldn't win, but we might take that bastard down with us."

Liat's one remaining eye widened at the concept, however impossible it was with the current 'capital' of the westerling Ninja order so far away. "And earn the eternal praise and adoration of Ninjas everywhere? You surprise me, my f-"

"-ah ah ah ah. We don't ever use the 'f' word remember? A poor leader's a poor leader, no matter who they command. Even _weal'hath_ deserve better."

Neither said anything else then, simply marching along silently until the one who'd been tailing got too close behind them trying to hear. Without any signal needed, Fubuki whipped his left hand around to grab Emily Cashel by the collar of her robes, hoisting her into the air like a sack of grain. To the great amusement of his other men, he continued to walk backwards as he made a fierce visage at their eavesdropper, made all the more foreboding in that Emily, like most, had never seen the man without his mask before. She looked scared before the first word came out of Fubuki's mouth.

Not that that stopped him. "People should recognize when their superiors are trying to have a private conversation", he growled. "Especially _annoying little girls with no weapons _who are only here because herr Destin ordered it."

Surprising them both, Emily strained to get words out, albeit shaky and short of breath. "You... You'd really join the Empire? J-just for m-money?"

He clamped down tighter, putting black spots before her eyes. "The mercenary way of life, my dear. And to be honest, the pickings are rather slim these days."

"B-but... but they're evil! Under the samurai code, you have to stick my your lord, or kill yourself!"

Liat burst out in nasty laughter, but his boss wasn't feeling so charitable. "I would expect no less from member of Roshian", he noted clinically. "In your quaint little sanctuaries, all is either black or white. Empire bad. Rebels good. Perhaps you should have stayed safe in there instead of coming out into the real world." With that, he dropped her to the ground, gasping for breath. "Pick up that pace, you lollygaggers. We're not Destin, after all."

* * *

The rebellion marched on. Other cities of Sharom saw the blue banner raised in their town squares, and while each one lent further proof to Orinas' claim that the town levies had been withdrawn from them, this left scant handfuls of soldiers to protect them who always ran at the sight of superior numbers and were always given the chance to.

In fact it was not until the rebellion army came within sight of the district's local Roshian Temple that any real resistance made itself apparent, but equally apparent was the fact that it was going to be a larger stand than expected. As Destin's division marched across the bridge leading to the temple grounds, a line of black dots made itself evident in the distance, revealed by the torches they'd lit to pierce the nightfall. They'd formed into what he recognized from his books as a battle line; the bread and butter of every battle ever fought in the realm of men.

At some point so far back in history no book could record, someone had taken advantage of the simple fact that it was easier to kill an enemy when you could face them directly without worrying about one's sides or back. To that end, a side-to-side wall of friendly soldiers would defeat a chaotic tangle any day. Historically, battles usually ended when one side's line was either pierced, or either end of the line was 'wrapped around' by the other side so that the soldiers on the 'flanks' would face several enemies at once. Even the most junior of cadets knew this simple fact, and so this particular enemy line bulged outwards around the bridge leading north to Castle Jindark in a half-circle, with the river system acting as artificial flanks to compensate for their inferior numbers.

Automatically understanding the need for their own line, Destin had sent runners to the other divisions for them to form up around the temple, equally as long a line but thicker once Lans and Blaine's divisions had arrived. While the thought had occurred to him that the Imperials could try to rush past the rebels and retake the fishing city of Abdella, none of their commanders were quite so foolish as to try it when it was so easy to see enemy positions from their torches. Mayhap in the daylight they might attempt such a thing, but for now they dared not move, waiting for the larger army to come to them.

Unable to sit still, he paced his line of campfires and warriors, checking in with each group leader in turn to make sure there were no problems. Lans' group, containing the largest number of Zenobian royal knights of all of them, was likely the strongest and thus was assigned to the left flank, and Fubuki's group of easterling mercenaries to the right. Blaine and Destin's groups composed the centerline with the majority of the Roshian Sisterhood hanging back until needed. Bors, Lans' muscle-bound westerling subordinate, had gone with his group to liberate the merchant city of Valna east of the bay, under the pretence that the rebel army, for all its preparations, lacked a supply of medical herbs, which he insisted were a staple of any victorious army. Whenever they arrived, they would become the reserves. He'd heard that Warren was also on his way with a group of volunteers from Volzak, but there had been no sign of his old mentor yet.

With no sign of an enemy charge yet, the division leaders convened at the rear of the formation, their faces cast aglow by torchlight, for there had been no time to set up a tent. "Bastards are waiting for the rest to come", Lans Hamilton took the lead in explaining. "Just like us. I don't see the governor yet, so he's likely left command to one of the guard captains. Kill him, and that line will crumble- I've seen pigeons with more willpower."

"He'll be in the centerline", Blaine declared confidently, pointing with the hand of his 'doll' to the outmost portion of the line's bulge with unusual enthusiasm. "My archers can bring him down. But I noticed they have not dispatched runners."

Destin blinked, absorbing all this as best he could. Unfortunately, his inexperience showed best around veterans like the two mercenary leaders. "Meaning?"

The green-robed magician rolled his eyes. "_Meaning _they have Wizards enough to send messages to the castle and their missing divisions. Amateurs, probably, but not something we can just ignore. Kill the captain and they'll take command as best they can. Some of them are probably even expecting that to happen." All the others except Destin nodded the affirmative to that theory, all thinking of a similar thing but not saying it; the tendency of magicians- particularly those trained in the Empire- to come to regard any man without magical power as their inferiors. Young Blaine ap Diwrnach largely considered himself an exception, but knew enough arrogant colleagues in his Karma discipline of magic to know the stereotype was justified. Even Warren Moon was hardly a 'people' person, outside his loyal subjects.

"And what of the flanks?", Selec Fubuki cut in sternly. "Are we to advance or hold? Well, general?"

Destin winced. The hard-nosed samurai had made clear his disapproval from the moment they'd met, and much like Blaine he never passed up an opportunity to make him look or feel foolish. "The right flank will advance", he managed at last. "But _not_ until the centerline is broken. That is when they will shift men from their flanks to reinforce it- you can catch them in the change-over, cut them off from the bridge. I'd prefer the left flank to remain in the event of a breakaway."

Fubuki gave him a mock bow. "As you command, my lord. Brilliant strategy. They'll never see it coming."

"These aren't exactly elites we're dealing with, _shai-raa_", Blaine cut in, for once defending their leader. "You gotta start somewhere, and these punks are the best way. And I for one, am impressed that you even thought about a breakaway in that direction." Seeing his fellow warrior's disdain, he gave up. "Well, whatever. We can start any time, boss. Just give the word." He followed Fubuki out of the clearing, leaving only the two of them.

"I understand you may not wish to fight your first battle at night", Lans offered after a long silence. "It's harder, more chaotic, sometime impossible to tell friend from foe. We can keep them here 'till daybreak if needed, sir. That will give Bors and Warren all the time they need to catch up."

"And their reserves all the time they need to get here as well", Destin cut in, absently poking at the fire with his blade despite all the warnings he'd been given that it would break down the sword's durability. He had not, however, forgotten the other basic rule of warfare that dictated the larger the army, the more casualties would be required to defeat it. "And more time for them to go around the bay and catch us from behind if they have naval units. Which they almost certainly do. No, Lans. We have to strike now. It's the best move, and we don't even know if Warren is-"

"-Coming?", the familiar tones of the Moon Sage finished for him, emerging from the tall grass where previously there had been nothing. "Oh, I'm _hurt_, boy. Surely you didn't think I'd just ignore history on the move, did you?"

"Warren!", Destin exclaimed, embracing the Sage. "I knew you would not let me down. I was just pretending for Lans' benefit here."

"Of course", Warren acknowledged dryly, tipping his staff. "This old body has withered as you know. I doubt I'll be of much use to you once the real battles start, but hopefully by then you'll have a better idea of how to handle yourself... for all our sakes."

Destin frowned. "Real battles? Warren, we're just about to start the first real battle."

"They're rabble", the Sage dismissed him without any opening for an argument. "Frightened boys plucked off the streets, jammed into armour too big to fit them and told to go save the world. Not unlike yourself." Placing one hand on the general's shoulder, he knelt slightly. "Listen to Lans, m'boy. They're mice. They'll crumble. They'll crumble like breadsticks dipped in water. You just have to stick by all we've taught you."

Just as what had happened at Volzak, Destin was able to pick out the compliment among the insults and smiled in comfort. "Thanks... Warren. Shall we put you with Fubuki's bunch, then?"

The Sage stroked his beard quizzically. "Oh Gods, no. He'd hate you even more, I thought you'd know that. The man's ego fills too much space for us to be there. If it's alright with you, we'll shoulder up Blaine's division."

"Of course. Wait... 'We?' "

With a superior smile on his face, Warren tugged at his staff. Four wolflike heads emerged sniffing from the tall grass, supported by eight clawed paws between them. Ruclomb and Pheles, the Sage's loyal pet Worgen, or 'Hellhounds', the latter of whom now ran up to lick Destin's face with both tongues, bowling him over. Seeing as their leader was temporarily unavailable for comment, Warren continued. "Well then. I believe my division is all here now, except for the caretakers. Are we ready to begin?"

Finally able to get Pheles to stop, Destin sat up, attention returning to the line of torches before them. "More than."

* * *

The dead of night, that brief stretch of time when even the water gains an unearthly tranquility, was hardly the ideal time for battle. Yet whatever signs of tiredness were shaken off when the rebel army was at last stirred into action, startling their foes but giving them plenty of time to prepare as the enemy line marched up to within less than a baum. Opposing armies stared across the distance at each other, some in fear, some in anger, but all united in the growing tension that gripped their hearts and prevented anyone from charging before the leaders could have their say. No matter how much bravado the Imperial troops- most of them mere cadets- forced into their gait, the captain in charge knew that if the battle could be at all avoided, then it would be best for everyone if it was. Senseless bloodshed never got more senseless than when it was performed in the name of a lost cause.

The captain came forward, bearing no splendour but extremely faded metal armour that could only come to be so through repeated use, and so others looked on him with more respect than any of the cadets or knights under him. His sword was sheathed as a sign of parlay, and soon two of the rebellion's leaders- Destin and Lans- came out to speak.

"Warriors of the rebellion", the old captain began in a placating tone. "You have demonstrated admirable courage and drive in capturing so many territories so quickly. Yet you must know that this battle is folly. Even should you win today, every major district in Zenobia is controlled by an army at least the size of this one. And even should you defeat all of those, all you shall succeed in doing is forcing the Empire to deploy its own elite forces to destroy you. Let us stave off a lifetime of warfare and inevitable retribution before it has begun. I implore you- return to your base, and we shall not pursue. You shall not be harmed! Otherwise..."

Stepping forward past his general, Lans removed his helmet as well. "Hello, sir Bernard", he said with all the warmth of a Highland winter. "You're looking well."

Seeing the famous rebel's face for the first time in years, sir Bernard- formerly of Zenobia- sighed, quickly realizing that even if he could reason with the army assembled here, Lans would have none of it. "Hello, commander Hamilton. I should have figured you'd be behind this lot. I knew from the start that you'd never stop trying until you died, but then I wrongly figured that would have happened by now. How many years will it take? How old are you now? 60? 65?"

"58", Lans returned curtly, his marine blue armour making him harder than the rest to make out in the darkness. "And I am not the man who is your doom on this night, _traitor_, much as I wish it were so. Our chosen leader, Lord Destin, is right here."

Bernard faced the red armoured lad to Lans' right, not laughing but at once relieved that he could deal with someone more reasonable. "Then I must address you, sir Destin. You know this is a futile battle. No force in Zenobia can defeat Zeteginea's army, and when your war is ended and your men all dead our children will face pain and suffering from their darkest nightmares in retaliation. End it. End it now. Retreat in peace, and spare our kingdom further destruction, for the Gods know how it has suffered already."

"Our war shall be ended one day", Destin replied, not feeling secure enough to get as close to the captain as Lans had been. "But on our terms. So I give your people the same offer, sir Bernard ap Rothchild of Sharom. March your people to the west. Let us pass in peace and I swear on my honour we shall not pursue, nor shall the Empire be able to make any attempt at retaliation for many a fortnight. You will have my gratitude, and there's no Zeteginean who knows this land well enough to find you if you don't wish to be found."

At once, sir Bernard looked immensely sad, years of sorrow rivaling Lans' furrowing his brow beneath his worn and battered helmet. "If only that were true, lad", he wished. "If only. But I must be realistic, for the sake of those serving under me. I've seen the Empire's armies in action before. Nothing can stop them." Unexpectedly, he gave a long look at both battle lines and let out a half-crazed laugh. "The hordes of peasants we have here? There are legendary, invincible warriors in their ranks capable of decimating such rabble _by themselves. _So if you will not yield, then I must simply pray that we are able to put down your destructive rebellion before it attracts wrath from up on high." Drawing his sword hilt-forward to indicate the negotiation's ending, he gingerly withdrew to the safety of his line.

"The bards will sing of your death, Bernard", Lans called after him. "And every verse shall shame you deeper."

Not replying, the knight simply held up his sword in the cross position, a form of salute to his foe despite all that had come between them. Both armies felt antsy to Destin, but neither charged. "Give it a moment", Lans had advised him before returning to tender his own group. "T'is always like this with novice armies, and the veterans we have shan't attack unless the whole of your force goes with them lest they break their own line. No one's going to actually charge until they can't take it anymore, or they've had enough ale not to care."

Be that as it may, it was _Destin _now who could not withstand the creeping tension any longer. His own blade stood ready, trembling, waiting for an attack that seemed unlikely, if ever, to come. Finally, Blaine got equally fed up with waiting and made his own move- a dozen arrows streaked over the rebel line, going out of sight until reappearing just above the enemy centerline. It didn't look like it had hit Bernard, but Destin followed suit with his own small group of archers, beckoning their strike with a cry of "RELEASE! Now CHARGE! FIGHT IT OUT!".

That was the signal. Not just to the archers behind the line, but for the whole rebel army to finally work off their suspense. Lans' knights did not attack yet as per instructions, but Blaine, Fubuki, and Destin's men ran to crash into the other line as one, alongside the leaping figures of Ruclomb and Pheles, released by their master to seek out fresh meat. At the same time, a familiar-looking fireball blew overhead to immolate an enemy knight just before Destin himself reached the pileup. At once packed side-to-side, the only option available was to attack straight ahead at whoever happened to be directly across from him, and so he beat at that armoured knight's upraised shield to drive it back even as he noted that it still bore Zenobia's lion, though faded. Another traitorous member of the Zenobian royal guard.

Now the screaming began. Initially drowned out by the rebel war cry, it now issued from the handful of cadets who had been paralyzed or stunned by arrows and left for the steamroller of the rebel battle line to crush. Others began as the two lines began to eat away at each other, smashing and killing, and before long the noise of it was so intense Destin could scarcely remember his own name. He'd never seen anything like it. Never in his life. He could at least remember the importance of calling upon the Gods to remove his fear of it all, and the importance of continually hacking away at the enemy knight, and so when the other man tried to bring down his sword upon his blue armband, he was ready to parry the strike and slash the man's shield hand.

His own, lighter armour shifted along with his weapon. Up, down. Wrists tight, controlled but firm. Lans had taught him well. The second blow took the man's hand off right through the rusted mail and left him screaming, though he still remained lucid enough to slash back with his remaining hand. Blocking it with the iron vambrace he wore just above the armband, he brought his sword around again and the man screamed no more.

* * *

He might have cried. He stood there shaking, only protected from opportunistic enemies by his loyal battle line. Had a second man clambered over the first in good time, he would have been a helpless target. Yet no such enemy climbed over the fallen knight's body, over the grisly obstacle he had created that even now leaked blood from the arm and neck onto the grassy earth. No amount of telling himself he should have been ready for this, or that Svastpoli's captain had not affected him so, could shake the tears. But he was still the rebel leader. Their hope. The one example all the rest of his people were meant to follow. He could not simply curl up and wait for it all to be over. No one would ever respect or follow him again if he did that.

And so Destin fought, involuntary tears streaming from his eyes by the thimbleful even as he climbed over the fallen knight to attack a second enemy, this one far more easily killed. An archer who'd been caught too close to the frontline, and now unable to move for the crush of friendly and unfriendly bodies all around them. Blocking with his bow let her survive one slash, but a second one took her in the chest, and using both his hands for strength Destin wrenched the steel implement up and out of the body at her bosom. _And now I've killed a woman. A Zenobian woman. Hooray._

As if the Gods were answering his musings with a joke as Warren would do, a rebel soldier flew over Destin's head shrieking, and he traced that casualty to something to kill that was neither man nor woman. A rust-brown collection of large rocks that easily towered over any human warrior in bipedal shape. The head too, was rock, with a pair of almost comically small blue eyes that glowed in the dark of the night. A Golem. A magical, living construct of rocks from the Karma branch of magic that obeyed its creator unto death. They hadn't seen it before the charge, but it was apparent the enemy had been keeping it in reserve until now, for the creature was brutally strong and immune as the mountains themselves to all swordcraft or arrows. And now it was closing on _him_, its massive feet leaving behind indentations in the ground the size of his own head.

No longer caring if he broke the line, Destin fell back, dodging a huge sweeping fist of rock that took out the two novice warriors beside him, not killing but knocking them flat. Trying frantically to remember anything in his books about Golems, he ran up the creature's extended arm, dodging the other one before driving his blade into the blue pebbles that served it for eyes. To his horror, it clinked off the stone as harmlessly as the rest of the body, and then both its arms came up to try and smash him. A lucky punch took the wind out of him, and a glancing blow to the back knocked him to his knees.

Golems were slow. Very slow. That was perhaps their one weakness. In the time it took for it to line up another punch, Destin had brought up his sword to deflect it. A follow-up blow might have damaged him further, but before it could land Destin overheard someone chanting and the Golem's fist erupted in a poisonous-looking yellow liquid. It thrashed about, incapable of speech but certainly capable of conveying its agony as more spots of acid emerged all over the 'skin' like a Golem version of Sebastian's Plague. Not waiting to see who had caused it, Destin lashed out at the acid spot on the neck, severing the head and leaving the Golem to die. _A Karma_ _spell_, he noted once recovered enough to make sense of the madness around him. _Thanks, Blaine. _

He looked around. He was not the only one of his group to have abandoned the battle line upon seeing the Golem, but the rest of the divisions to either side of them had stuck to the plan. On the far right he could see less than a dozen foot soldiers being driven back by Fubuki's blade and those of his men, while the rest of the enemy line attempted to retreat across the river before they were cut off and savaged by Worgen. Another fireball and acid cloud struck two more knights down, and the Imperial line finally curled into nothing but a mess of desperate, injured men and women. There was no sign of sir Bernard, though there were many bodies so horribly mangled that it would be impossible to tell. Nor would it end there- the rebels had seized the opportunity of a broken battle in both hands, striking at the fleeing troops all the way to the bridge with one final arrow volley crossing over it to fell one soldier by his spine.

Which left only the injured and the fallen to take care of. With no immediate threat, the hideous gurgling in his stomach had returned, hitting him worse than the greatest of famine. The slain littered the grasslands with shattered bones and blank eyes, at least thirty with the Imperial red on their cuffs. While the rebel survivors had made haste to whisk the ones with blue from the field, Destin simply sat, taking it all in. Blood soaking the darkened earth and leaking into the river. Broken weapons, armour and bodies, all mixed together by the darkness into a sea of misery. Motionless men. Everywhere. Haunting him. Others crying out in vain for assistance before being sent to join them. If they were lucky.

This was not glory. This was _not _his rebellion, the way he'd pictured it. This was mass murder, plain and simple. Lunacy.

"Please... help me..."

Destin looked down. A woman. One of the archers Fubuki's bunch had crippled had managed to crawl over to him without the proper use of either of her legs. Her face remained mostly covered by long black hair, but the anguish in her tone was unmistakable. With the amount of blood seeping from her knees and lips, she would have only hours to live at best.

"Ple... I... help..."

The Imperial standard on her arm glared back at him like a curse. But this one was no longer an Imperial. She was nothing but an innocent, caught in the crossfire of a battle he'd started without ever being able to see the consequences firsthand. _If I'd known...!_

No. No more tears. If not him, then someone else. But it was _he_ who was here now, inciting hundreds into violence. And _he_ would not permit this war to kill one person more than it had to. Getting to his feet, he took her hand.

* * *

The Roshian temple's halls thronged with people. Constructed long ago as a focal point for Zenobia's dominant religion, most temples were attended not by the female clerics, but men in brown hooded robes not unlike the ones the rebels had used to sneak into Svastpoli, titled Priests. Though Destin had not known it during the battle, it turned out that the Roshian sect had pledged more than just a group of novice clerics to the rebellion's cause, but the healing arts of the head priests as well should a soldier of the rebellion fall.

"It is the least we can do", the head priest of Sharom explained to the gathered division leaders as more wounded were brought inside, his waxy black beard shining in the candlelight of the main hall. "Of all the organizations in Zenobia, it may be those of us who follow the way of the Gods who faced the greatest persecution by the Empire. They have tried for twenty four years to drive people away from us, in favour of their own religions, of the Goddess Freya." He scoffed, clearly wanting to launch into a dissection of his 'rival' faith's flaws, but a look from Fubuki kept him on topic. "Our order was created many years ago by Prince Roshian, perhaps the most selfless man this world has ever known. He taught us to always be kind to our fellow man, to offer shelter to the homeless and aid to the needy. For centuries after his martyrdom we have strove to emulate his example. Any follower of the rebellion shall be welcome here or any Roshian Temple, no matter how grievous the injury. We have never failed; so long as the man's soul has not yet left his body, we can restore him to life in time. You will see."

Seeing Destin rise to shake the man's hand. Warren cut him off with one hand. "A moment, Father. I know your order. I knew it before you were born. You would not simply restore our wounded for nothing, no matter how badly you despise the Empire". As if to punctuate his point, a man's scream echoed from the healing wing, in pain even as the priests worked their arts, equally as secretive as Warren or Blaine's magics.

The head priest shrugged, folding his arms within his robes. "True. All life is precious, but even men of the Gods must mind their wallets at times. We do all have families to take care of. Considering how much you would lose were a soldier simply allowed to die, it is a very reasonable pittance of Goth, considering we have always refused this service to Imperial soldiers no matter what threats they make against Avalon."

"I see", the Sage acknowledged. "Well thank you, father. We're very grateful for this service. How_ is _the convocation on Avalon going, by the way?"

The priest's face fell. "Not well, I'm afraid to say. The Empire has detached some of their own men from the invasion force to blockade it until they located the Grand Monk Forris, and as you know they have the full support of the merfolk. Letters have been fewer and farther between, but... Perhaps you might be of some assistance that regard, honoured Sage? I've heard you wizards have your own forms of communication."

For a moment, Warren looked confused. "Oh. _That_. It won't work in here. Too much interference. And unless they have any wizards on Avalon, you're out of luck. Your best bet would be air travel with the seas so well-guarded. I'll see what I can dredge up."

"That would be much appreciated", the priest answered, discreetly bowing away to help the healing rituals.

"Lad", Bors interrupted Destin before he could leave to check on his charge, jogging up to him. "First, I canna tell ye how sorry I am fer missing the battle. Me boys' legs ain't what they used to be, and same fer mine."

"Oh? Think nothing of it", he assured the oxlike knight, stretching to clap him on the shoulder. "A victory is a victory. If all I've been told is to be believed, it went very much in our favor, and now the priests are eliminating whatever casualties we _did_ take." Another howl pierced the hall, but one that suggested a less mortal hurt than previous ones. Even the recovery was said to be painful, but still better than the alternative.

"There was a pryin' minx we hadda deal with", Bors explained. "Came in on a griffin, tryin' ta take back Valna from us. But ne'er yeh mind that now- I got somethin' for yeh."

Curiously watching him fumble through a small pouch, Destin sized up the man with a new respect. Though nowhere as pious about Zenobia's restoration as his commander, red-haired Bors gave off much the same vibe of the longtime veteran even if one disregarded the scar running down his cheek from the left side of his face, or the row of notches he'd made in the cuff of his armour just above where he'd tied his armband. Nine kills, if he was reading it correctly. Apparently Lans didn't do that, but several of the other Zenobian royal guards had similar tallies on their cuffs. It seemed grotesque to him now, but still commanded respect. He would certainly not be carving two notches into his vambrace, nor expect to attain seven more such kills unscathed.

Bora had finally found the item he'd brought back from Valna- a nondescript oval with a hard, hollow surface like a shell, emblazoned with an artist's depiction of a red-white star or comet or some similar event in the realm of the Gods. "When they knew who we were", Bors explained, offering it to his general, "the deputy mayor insisted we take it. Fella by the name of Temerlay, nice hair, nice wife. S' called the 'Star of Heroes'."

Examining the treasure, Destin suspected it had indeed started life as a seashell before becoming a heavy bauble. Through some trick of an artisan it had no seam, only a smooth, unyielding layer of white. "Well, um... Thanks, Bors. I'll have to keep it in the armoury for now though; there's no way I can carry this thing into battle, it's heavier than all my armour put together."

"Ne'er expected yeh to", the hulking knight replied. "Now I gotta go find my slugs and get 'em back inna shape, righ'? Serves me right fer missin' the party."

"Yeah", Destin echoed hollowly, watching him walk off to find his men. "Party."

The Hero Star was only faintly reflective, yet he held it before him for nearly a minute before journeying to the horse-drawn wagon the rebels used as their armoury. Priests and soldiers alike passed him by with new hope in their eyes, seeing their leader already recovered from his first battle and ready to lead the next. As though that was the sum total of his existence, nothing but battle plans and the battles themselves.

And for all that was wrong with that assumption, damn it, it was the best for the rebellion if he let them go on believing it. From the dawn of time men had always desired their leaders to be greater in all attributes than themselves, shining role models they could aspire to and gossip about whenever their own lives became dull or dreary. Not even the Gods could change this nature, and the best role model for the rebels would be a man who remained the perfect warrior and tactician even if it could not be further from the truth.

A great leader? He was a murderer, and an accomplice to many more murders. To liberate Zenobia, they would time and time again commit one of the very crimes they decried the Empire for, because stubborn men like Bernard would refuse to have it any other way. Finding himself furious at the knight's reluctance, he threw the Hero Star into the wagon but did not hear it break. _Who cares? Old bastard. I hope he did die._

By luck or design, this got him chuckling, dwelling on a different irony than the travesty of killing to avenge old deaths as he headed for the healing wing. Other warriors, and even his own tutors, flung that insult around on occasion, but given the circumstances he was in no position to call anyone else a bastard. 'Destin _Neb'_ was the telltale, the reason he avoided using the full title whenever possible. Neb. Nobody. A child born to no one and, if Warren's stories were to be believed, found in a reeking dungeon. He did not care to find out just how many of his rebels believed in all the various superstitions about bastard children, which remained prevalent even in the Empire. Anything that diminished their respect for him would have to be conveniently swept under the rug until Zenobia was freed, or he died. So many sacrifices he was making. Perhaps too many.

The situation in the healing wing looked tense when he arrived. The raven-haired archer girl was not up, but conscious. This was her blessing, for upon realizing her true allegiance the priest had called in one of Lans' people to kill her. The knight's sword was in position to strike when Destin yelled for him to stop, thrusting another priest aside as he walked up.

"She's of the Empire, m'lord", the knight protested in a deep voice.

"I _know_ she is, you idiot", Destin replied angrily. "I brought her here. She was dying."

For a moment, both priest and knight looked at the general as though he'd gone mad. "T-that is kind of the _idea_, m'lord. They're all traitors to the crown. They must die."

But the younger man shook his golden head. "Not while I'm in command. Lans might think differently, but Highlanders are human. They have just as much a right to live as you or I. Besides, if you had read the reports, you'd know that most of the Zenobian levies don't even want to serve the Empire. Isn't that right, girl?"

Thankfully, the girl was no fool. She nodded her head vigorously without speaking, though the priest was still refusing to let her up. Unconvinced, the knight lowered his blade to her neck. "She's a Zeteginean! Her vile people have destroyed everything we held dear!"

"Another inch, sir knight, and you'll be expelled from this army", Destin proclaimed, drawing his own sword without any remaining shred of reluctance. "We'll take your armour, clothes and weapons for the armoury. You'll never fight again. That is, _if_ I don't take you down right here. I must admit, I'm considering it."

The knight wavered, but kept his weapon tight against the girl's exposed neck. If she moved she would lose it.

Tired of the standoff, Destin slapped his forehead. "_Think_. This girl was not even born when Gran died. How guilty can she be?"

Inch by deadly inch, the blade withdrew. "You speak the truth", the knight said, at last conveying shame in his words and posture. "But do not trust her out of this room. She's likely a spy."

"Hold it", Destin called when the knight had nearly reached the doorway. "What's your name, sir knight?"

The deep-voiced man sounded surprised. "Tomas ap Neralai, m'lord."

"Thank you. I'll remember it."

Still unsure from how gracious his leader sounded if that was a good thing or bad, the knight strode from the wing, leaving him with just the priest and the girl. The priest was easily shooed, and now Destin truly beheld the woman he'd saved in his grief for the first time. Contrary to his expectations, Zetegineans were not eight foot tall, poison-breathing monsters, or at least this one wasn't. The most unique things that set her apart from the dirt-common Zenobians she'd fought alongside were paler skin and a glossiness to her hair that prevented it from becoming tangled no matter how long she'd been trapped on that bed. Looking further, he noticed a thin white ring surrounding her irises, though like the rest it remained to be seen if that was a common Highlander trait or something unique to her.

Looking further still, he earned a slap to the face. "Okay", he conceded, "I deserved that one. What's your name?"

To his dismay, she responded in a collection of strange, guttural enunciations with many rolling rs and ks. It sounded like an invitation to fight. _Strange. She spoke native Zenobian before, I know she did. She'd have to, in order to live in Sharom._

"Alright, one bit at a time." He began to pantomime his desired answer. "What is. Yooour. Naaaame?"

The girl said nothing, turning away. Disappointed, Destin stepped away from her bedside. "Fine. Don't talk. You're still alive, that's enough for me. But I'd advise you to stay well enough away from the rebellion in the future if you know what's good for you."

No response. A shame, for this had not been just small talk. He truly did desire to learn the Zeteginean girl's name.

That was how he would do this, he knew now. Not by beating himself up for every victory or refusing to personally fight at all like the Sharom governor had. To remember someone's name was to prevent them from becoming a mere statistic, something he heartilly wished to avoid in the future. When the time came that he was advocating battle simply because the casualty rates would be_ in their favour_, he would know it was time to step down and let someone more suitable take over.

He'd decided. That was what he'd do. Every member of the revolutionary army deserved to have their name known and respected. Murderers or not they were all heroes, large and small, smart like Fubuki or dumb like Tomas. For them, death would be only the beginning. He would make sure of it.

* * *

The rebel army set out early the next morning on six hours' sleep and their wallets a great deal lighter than what they had come in with. Not just the priests, but the mercenary leaders who insisted on a day's pay for them and all their men before taking one step out of the temple. If nothing else, the payment cheered Selec Fubuki up immensely for on the long march across the connecting bridges to castle Jindark the samurai made not a single complaint or cynical remark. Likewise, all the fighters serving under Destin and a few under Bors had demanded smaller sums, but Lans' knights considered it their sworn duty and Ruclomb and Pheles' only payment was the chance to devour more of the enemies of Warren Moon.

As expected, Bors had also bought a good number of healing herbs in Valna for when a Roshian Temple was not so readily available, and divided them among the divisions as he saw fit. "Rub 'em hard, rub 'em clean", he informed the other chiefs passionately about the strange-smelling plants, "takes care of poisons, bleeding, diseases, yeh name it. These little things stopped Sebastian's Plague dead 'n Zenobia. Ain't it a shame they don't grow 'em anywhere else."

Much as Destin had initially resisted, the plains on which they'd fought the previous night were the only way to get through the river system surrounding Jindark that would not have them arrive by nightfall. The field made a grisly scene for him as well as the rest of the rookie soldiers, a collection of rotting corpses in uniforms made all the more horrible-looking in the daytime. Scores of crows were there having their fill of the flesh of the fallen, only scattering to the air momentarily as the rebel army marched on through before returning to the feast. "I wonder if there's an herb to prevent vomitting", Destin had asked out loud at the front, spitting into the river. "Devil's work."

"But necessary", Warren seconded, hobbling alongside his pupil with Pheles at his heels. "You knew from the beginning there would be untold bloodshed in liberating Zenobia."

"I knew there would be lots of a word in my books called 'bloodshed' and that it was bad", the young rebel leader contended, glancing back at the first river ford. "I didn't know until now just how ugly it was. Perhaps it's for the best that men like Fubuki and I don't get along so well."

"Mm", the Sage murmured. "Yes, Fubuki is exceedingly proud- part of the powerful samurai order here in Zenobia- but unlike some of them he possesses the skills to back it up. I had feared from the start that he would not accept a mere child as our leader instead of him. Yet, the cards do not lie. Of anyone in the entire continent, you are our best chance."

"Yeah. Lucky me."

Raising his staff, Warren rapped his knuckles. "Enough self-pity, boy! This is what you were trained for. You can bet none of the Empire's governors spend much time contemplating their navels like you do. Spend too long in reflection and they'll break you like a mirror, and all our hopes will have come to nothing."

Licking his hands to relieve the surprising amount of pain, he looked up to see Castle Jindark on the horizon, only one more river away. The other divisions were of different distances of course, but the plan had been clear- the rebels were to assault Jindark as a unit despite its lack of fortification. Whatever reinforcements had been on the way last night had likely joined with the battle's survivors, eager for a rematch. "Don't worry, I won't. I can grieve later. Right now, there's more 'necessary' killing ahead."

However, to his surprise the castle seemed vacant, or at least not crowded enough to be holding three divisions' worth of men. Not only that, but the drawbridge lay wide open for them with only three men waiting to greet them. Two in green robes Destin recognized as the Wizards from the previous battle, but the third one was clearly the main authority here. The beer-bellied governor had clothed himself in hides and a helmet making him look like the seaborne conquerors of old. A dirty grey beard protruded from his squat face, and many rings denoting achievements in warfare decorated it. He had been sizing up Destin in return when Lans' division marched over the hill and both men froze.

"Lancelot", the governor noted in a gruff voice. "You really are somethin'. An' they talk about the living dead in Pogrom Forest, hah!"

"Usar Ferghus", the knight captain shot back in equal venom, not even bothering to correct him. "I had heard the rumours, but never believed you'd sink so low. Still playing the Empire's lackey?"

"Another traitorous Zenobian, Lans?", Destin cut in, feeling ignored. Here they had three divisions all ready to seize the opportunity and defeat the governor, and all Lans could think to do was hurl insults.

"Not just any traitor, sir Destin", captain Hamilton maintained, tromping onto the bridge in a base fury. "The most notorious bastard ever to call himself a Zenobian. The roots of his deceit go back for twelve long years."

Unperturbed, Usar winked at the assemblage before him. "No regrets. They're useless as griffin droppings an' even less pretty to look at."

"It's a long story, sir Destin", Lans informed his commander, never taking his eyes from Usar. "And to wait a moment longer before destroying this traitor would have my liege moan in his grave."

Beckoning a pair of servants from the castle foyer, Usar smirked sickeningly. "You're antsy to see this over too, eh? Can't blame ya... Betcha never even found where we buried the old man eh, Lancelot?"

Ignoring his taunts, Lans motioned the others away from the bridge. "He is mine. I owe my king this. We shall explain the entire story in due time."

"Hey, don't bite off more than you can chew for honour's sake", Destin protested. "Don't forget he's got those two wizards."

Usar cackled, looking back at the two green-robed bodyguards who suddenly looked very frightened. "Oh, these two? Knock yourselves out. Lancelot's the only one I want right now, but don't worry- I'll deal with you for seconds, kid." With that, he raised his weapon from the washcloth the servants had been holding it with- a wicked-looking ball and chain all in black, the flail's ball the size of a melon. Whipping it through the air with ease despite its weight, the gluttonous governor stretched out one hand to Lans. "Let's go, Lancy-boy. Gran's waiting for you."

The knight spat. Snarled. "And the same to you, low-life scum!"

Both sides charged, but it wasn't long before Destin realized the dishonoured knight had chosen a singular duel for tactical reasons as well as personal. With the enraged Lans and Usar jockeying for position, no one else could cross the bridge to reach the wizards, who both snapped out of their funk, raising their identical staffs to begin chanting in words Destin recognized from Warren's mouth. "Fireballs!", he called to the rest of his division. "Get behind me!"

The closest ones obliged, and while one of them did indeed shoot off a sphere of fire the same as the one he'd cleaved through at the feast- this one dealt with much the same way- the second wizard instead brought forth a funnel of raging wind which sent Warren flying back nearly out of sight before he stopped himself. Howling in rage, his pets ran forward before anyone could stop them, both attempting to jump the moat and failing.

"Twelve years ago", Lans began to speak out over the sound of his blade clashing with Usar's massive chain, "those of the royal guard still loyal to Gran formed the first Zenobian Revolutionary Army. We pledged to bring down our Imperial occupiers by force, and not rest until the kingdom had been restored to its former glory."

"Lancelot here made himself leader by fiat", Usar picked up even while slamming his weapon down on Lans' shield, cracking it. "Because Captain Ashe... Well, you all know what happened to Captain Ashe, may the old Gods devour him twice a day."

He could not allow the story to distract him- there was another battle to be fought and won here. Motioning forward, Destin called down a dribbling fire of arrows against the wizards. Both backed up, replying with another wind funnel bearing one of Destin's younger men screaming off into the air for a long distance, the damage from his fall likely worse than what the wind could do. No matter how he tried, he could not break past the duel and reach them with his own weapon, nor could the rest of the sword-bearing men still with him. It was up to the archers to keep those two pinned down in the castle until the duel was over.

"For the first few weeks everything went according to plan", Lans continued, oblivious to the rebels' difficulties, punctuating each word with a stroke that could have taken Usar's life had he been a bit slower. "Much like this army, we liberated Sharom, Zenobia's largest district, from its governors without much difficulty and only a handful of losses. Usar was my left hand, and Bors my right. We took the Lake Janneia district, and prepared to march upon the capital in the morning. That night...", he trailed off darkly, "there was a raid on our base. Silent and deadly, the Imperials came, for _someone_ had unlocked the gate for them."

"Just like today", Usar sneered. "What can I say? I was tired of being your 'left hand'. Maybe if you didn't play with it so often." Spinning his weapon over his head, he swept it across the bridge to drive back eager soldiers and hammer Lans' cuff. "I saw Castle Parcival and Janneia when we took 'em, Lancy-boy. I saw the kind of wealth they hook their governors up with. Better than _yet another_ helping of stale bread and soup that tastes like Dragon piss, am I right?"

"But the Imperial treachery extended beyond even that", Lans narrated, finally getting inside the weapon's reach and slashing through the animal hides his opponent was clad in. They were pierced, but the more nimble governor ducked and rolled before he lost an arm. "For that _someone_ had also drugged our soup with sleeping herbs. When we finally realized what had happened, most of our people could barely stand.", he wheeled around fast, catching Usar on the other side too and leaving blood on his blade. "We lost over half our numbers before Bors and I managed to lead our people from the massacre, no longer possessing the manpower to hold what we'd taken. The rebellion had failed. And for what, you ask?"

His foe kicked him away, bringing down the mace ball again but only creating a fist-sized hole in the bridge. "Food. Money. Respect. Women. Power. Did I leave anything out there?"

"You are a _wretch_, Ferghus", Lans countered, driving his sword past the chain and slicing the large gray beard's rings from it. "Nothing but an honourless, lying, reeking, fat, cringing dog begging for scraps from your masters!"

He'd gotten in too far, however. The chain came down, not striking with the mace but wrapping the knight's arms tight and reeling him in to within a breath's distance of Usar's beard. "I'm big-boned. And a cringing dog's a live one. Which is more than I can say for your whore. No regrets?"

Whether on purpose or accident Destin could not tell, Lans threw both his chained arms up, sending the mace ball flying into the governor's exposed chest. A sickening noise like a plum being squashed by hand rang out, and Usar Ferghus fell to the wood and steel of the bridge. "None whatsoever", his killer finished, only now beginning to work his way out of the chains.

As though an entrancement spell had been broken, the rest of Destin and Lans' men resumed breathing and movement. Without the governor to cover them the wizards were easily hunted down and killed. The castle had fallen and its treasury theirs to take. To his right, a runner finally remembered his purpose here, contritely walking over to where Destin stood.

"I should have told you before, m'lord", the man notified him. "Bors and Fubuki's divisions are ten minutes' march from here, closing fast. That was five minutes ago."

"Keep the gate open", he instructed detatchedly, still not sure if what he'd seen was real. "We'll quarter here for tonight; I doubt the survivors will be any sort of problem. Signal Blaine and Yenda to converge after they've taken Ellery." _Getting better all the time, eh? _He'd managed to give out all of these orders and send the runner on his way without flinching, stuttering or stopping to think if it was truly the correct decision.

If only the next task he knew he had perform was so easy. But it could wait. For now, he had no doubt that the majority of the rebel forces were in dire need of sleep and food more substantial than rations. Motioning his own men into Jindark for the night, he looked back at the governor's fallen body and then up at Warren. The Sage was similarly occupied, stealing one final look at the enemy leader as if bidding silent farewell to a friend.

Castle Jindark had fallen.

* * *

Bernard ap Rothchild had been serving his homeland of Zenobia for over thirty years, and one of the instincts this life had wrought in him was an ability to read the governors, deputy mayors, and other similarly grandiose-sounding officials with which he was forced to interact. While he was no mind reader, experience had taught him to look for the telltale signs of orders and manners exhibited by his superiors, and determine if they were men worthy of his fealty.

Not that such judgement mattered one way or the other. Governor Usar had certainly been a shining example of an official _not_ deserving of his loyalty, yet he'd been forced by duty to carry out the disgusting man's orders. The wiry, balding man standing before his tired and hungry survivors, however, was a different matter. Roughly the same age as he and carrying it like a born warrior, the second governor of Sharom needed no armour or even the simple weapon on his leather-stitched belt to command respect as he sat in his chair waiting for Bernard to finish the tale of how they had come to Castle Parcival.

"So, governor Ferghus ordered you to retreat south and join with my men?", governor Gilbert Oblion summarized, his curiosity momentarily overcoming the grave tone of defeat which normally permeated his speech. "Strange behaviour for one such as he. Before I'd have wagered he would have ordered you to stay at Jindark to hold off the rebels there no matter how hopeless the battle. That is, if I had the Goth to wager freely. Did you intercept any further communications from Jindark before you came here?"

"No, sir. He did have two wizards with him relaying his messages, and since I assume your own magic-users haven't gotten any word..."

Gilbert nodded, pleased at the knight's deductive reasoning. "There's no doubt that Jindark has fallen, and governor Ferghus either dead or fled. Rise, soldier. You did well in getting your men here safely. It seems not only Usar, but I, too, am guilty of underestimating this new rebellion." Himself risen from his seat, the hide-clothed man paced the line of Bernard's survivors, looking for injuries among them as he spoke. "They were able to seize Jindark in less than two days. By now, they'll have reorganized and replenished from Jindark's pantry- all the food that fool kept goes to our enemies' stomachs instead now. They may already be planning to make their southern march tomorrow."

"Erm... You _do_ plan to oppose them, do you not, sir?", Bernard pleaded. The alternative was to send a communication to the Imperial army explaining the situation, and summon them to Zenobia to crush the rebellion like a tick. Bernard did not envy the bearer of that message, and knew that if it came down to that it would go ill for the rest of Zenobia as well. _Any_ method of defeating the rebels would be better than calling on the Empire for help, and thankfully Gilbert seemed to understand this too.

"They've admirable spirit", the governor stated, palming his chin whiskers with interest. "Excellent skill and drive. Would that I could shake their leader's hand... But they do not realize- or mayhap, they simply refuse to accept- they're only increasing Zenobia's long-term suffering. Thus, for the sake of the people, captain Bernard, we _must_ put our house in order, before the Empire catches word of how far they've come in only a few days."

Exactly the reasoning which locked Bernard's own heart in iron chains. It was comforting to hear the words spoken by another, particularly one so well-respected as governor Oblion. "What then, sire?"

Attention wandering out of his clean little castle and to the fields beyond, Gilbert stared hard at the northeasterly horizon where the sun's rays were only now retreating beyond sight. "We fight, of course. I'll mobilize the men, deploy your people along with them if that is acceptable. Their primary target will be Latingurue at first, I think. We shall form a battle line 'round that city and block them out. Then, our air cavalry can pick them apart at their leisure."

_Air cavalry_. Bernard felt his heart jump. The mighty griffins, giant four-legged eagles which were so plentiful in the eastern half of Zenobia. Many of these had been domesticated by professional trainers such as the late Beast Man Kiolon or Gilbert himself, and trained to carry their riders far and wide across the land, unhindered by mountain or river. Usar had stabled one for times when sorcery was unavailable to deliver messages, but Castle Parcival held an entire nest of them upon its highest floor. Combined with his own men and the levies and men-at-arms under Gilbert's jurisdiction... It would be enough. It would _have_ to be enough, or some day soon their home would bewail the fate which prevented their victory here.

"For the sake of our people", Gilbert Oblion repeated to the breeze, his practised hand already drifting to his rawhide whip, pulling it taut with a powerful _CRACK_. "We dare not give in. For the sake of the many, these few must fall."


	4. Rally

**Rally**

**

* * *

**

**Tarot II - Priestess**

_Continuing his journey, the Fool comes upon a beautiful and mysterious veiled lady enthroned between two pillars and illuminated by the moon. She is the opposite of the Magician, quiet where he was loquacious, still where he was in motion, sitting while he stood, shrouded in the night where he was out in the bright of day. She is the High Priestess and she astonishes the Fool by knowing everything about him. "Since you know me so well, perhaps you can help me," says the Fool, laying out his sword, chalice, staff and pentacle. "The Magician showed me these tools, but now I'm in a quandary. There's so many things I could do with them. I can't decide." In answer, the High Priestess hands over to him a pair of ancient scrolls. "These will teach you how to decide." Seating himself at her feet, the Fool reads by the light of her crescent moon. Finally, the Fool knows enough that he can now decide what he wants, where he will go, and what he will do. Though he suspects that the High Priestess has even more secrets she could teach him-like what lies behind the pomegranate curtain-he is focused and ready to be on his way. Thanking the High Priestess, he heads off. But as he leaves he hears her whisper, quiet as the waters which bubble up from beneath her throne: _

_"We'll meet again...when you're ready to travel the most secret path of all."_

_

* * *

_

Destin could not put the task off any longer, not with the next step of the campaign mere hours away. In castle Jindark the rebels had found everything they needed to prepare for the next battle, both food and shelter enough for the hundred beings that now composed it. From in here, one might consider spending days resting further, consolidating their hold over the surrounding countryside to ensure the liberation had not left the various burgs of Sharom with any irreversible damages.

He knew better. Time was their enemy now that the Zenobian revolutionaries had truly left their 'starting gate'. The longer they waited, holed up here in the cheaply-built stronghold that had failed utterly to save its previous master, the more time the district governors would have to learn of Usar's fate and organize their defences against him. With the number of wizards in the Empire's service, keeping all messages from getting out would be an impossibility at best, but it was still a wise decision to move against another district as soon as possible.

Yet here he was, procrastinating this necessary task until the final moment before departure. Lans Hamilton was already suited up in his customary marine blue armour, having repaired his shield in the forges of Jindark that very night. "You wished to speak with me, sir Destin?"

Silently thanking his old mentor for starting first, still he knew what had to be done, and he clapped a hand to the older man's metal-plated shoulder, slow yet firm, taking a deep breath. "Yes. I did... Lans. You know that I'll always be indebted to you. You are my brother. You taught me everything I know about combat, both tactical and strategic. But... yesterday, you forgot all that yourself. What you did was foolhardy, selfish, and tactically unsound and you weren't our best warrior _and_ my friend, I'd have demoted you for it at the very least."

As he'd feared in the thousand times he'd imagined how this confrontation would go, Lans would not bend. "T'was no matter of yours, lad. And hardly selfish, mine, to avenge twelve years' injustice by ending that lout's miserable existence. No." He frowned. "No, it was too quick. He deserved to suffer more."

Going this far had already boiled his skin with the pressure, but to back down now would be worse than if he'd never spoken up at all; the same as encouraging such behaviour. He had to press harder. "Maybe you weren't paying attention. When you two were going at it we couldn't reach the wizards. One of my men lost ribs and some blood before we got them down. He won't be able to join us for another week, Lans. If they'd been stronger, or if Usar had been more skilled than you remembered, we might have died. All because of a private vendetta."

Destin could almost see the lights going off. His old mentor turned on him, face set into a furious scowl he'd never faced a friend with before. "You _dare_-!"

But the rebel leader folded his arms, refusing to be moved. This was about more than the fight with Usar, but the unnerving _glee_ with which Lans had killed several other former Zenobians such as Svastpoli's captain. He no doubt he'd have done the same to Bernard if the opportunity arose. "I dare, if that's the right word. You feel dishonoured because you could not save the king. That, I get. But that's no reason to treat everyone who didn't choose your path like they are scum, Lans. If you disagree, if you have some kind of problem with the way I've been managing this rebellion so far, by all means call me out. I know perfectly well that I am new at this; I could use your advice. But don't you _ever_ allow your drive for vengeance to endanger our men again. If you do... well. You and I will have words. They will not be pleasant as these ones."

Lans digested his threat slowly, too much the calm professional to raise his weapons or voice in return but still more indignant towards his greatest pupil than he ever had been. Yet, for all his resolve and fire, he was still only that. A pupil. "That... must have been very hard for you to say, sir Destin. Are you done, now?"

"Pretty much", he confirmed, back to a less hostile level now that the problem was addressed. "One more trifle, though. Why do you always deny the name Lancelot? In the ancient fables, sir Lancelot was a great hero and a handsome leader of men. Arthur's mightiest warrior. I fail to see how that could be taken as an insult."

Waiting an uncertain beat, Lans slowly set his helmet down on a table. No longer cloaked by night, his gray-haired face showed every wrinkle and weather-beaten scar upon its dark skin, painting a picture of immortal sorrow rather than a stalwart warrior. "Because I'm _not _a hero, sir Destin. Heroes can only be considered that when they actually succeed in protecting those they are _honour-bound _to guard and serve. I have never done so. I failed to protect my liege, failed to protect this land I love so much, failed to lead my men to victory or even life... I failed to save my wife, my one great love, from the Empire's_ butchers_. I merely wish to make amends once, just once... Before I die. Do you understand?"

Destin drew back, shocked. "I... I'm sorry... I didn't know."

"T'is not a well-known fact", the old knight noted wearily. "I do not widely proclaim it. Yet every day, I see loyal Zenobians making the decision to stand by those _kree-ath_ who murdered Gran. It is sometimes... sometimes... more than my heart can bear. I sometimes forget that not every man in Zenobia swore a knight's oath to serve the crown."

"Usar swore that oath", Destin noted, understanding. He'd unconsciously drawn right up next to that brutally scarred face, the better to peer into the windows of its owner's soul. "So did sir Bernard. And if the tales are true, so did the next governor we are to face, Gilbert Oblion. I can trust you not to run off and challenge _him_ to a foolhardy honour duel as well, then?"

Stepping back, the marine blue knight nodded. "You have my word. In any case, lord Oblion was always a governor, not a knight. He was not obligated by oaths to serve the king. All of the district governors were changed by the Empire over the twenty-four years they've been in power, save for him. I can only imagine how_ he _must feel. But, back to your question; you did not read enough of the story of Arthur. T'is misleading. Lancelot was an attractive, charismatic and charming man, yes. By many accounts, he was also a vainglorious one, who spent more time making the poets of his time skew history in his favour than actually fighting for his lord." He spat to avert evil. "I have no desire to be _anything_ like that man."

Destin smiled, glad to have the worst of it over with. His fanaticism aside, Lans Hamilton remained the best and most active fighter in the entire rebellion. "No danger of that, my brother. No danger of that. Let us march."

* * *

In a departure from any of Zenobia's other districts, Sharom was actually divided into two disparate halves due to its sheer size. Stretching down between a large lake and the eastern shore, the southern half held a roughly equal amount of fishing and agriculture-based cities, separated from the northern half by a mountain range unless one followed a particular river west then south. As with its twin, the governor's castle formed the core for the largest cluster of settlement with smaller instances sprinkled throughout the region. It was at Vannu, one of these trade cities, where the rebel force reconvened at the end of their days' long march south.

Destin heard his injured men before he saw them, one soldier rolled over howling from unseen pain and one of Fubuki's warriors applying herbs to nasty-looking gashes on his leg. Thankfully the bulwark of the army had avoided harm.

"What happened here?", he asked Blaine, chief of their forward division with concern. "I see no sign of an enemy attack."

"It wasn't a battle line", the doll magi explained to him, for once without any trace of superiority. "Bastards've been making air strikes at us all the way here. Little ones, but fast and lethal, just enough to get us off-balance before we meet the main force's line up ahead."

"Griffins", Destin guessed from his research. "Governor Oblion is said to be an expert beast tamer."

"Quite", Lans agreed stiffly from his spot near the city's bell. "The people say that he is descended from one of the five legendary Zenobian heroes- the beast-man, Dalkas. He can train any animal in Zenobia to be his loyal pet, with the sole exception of Dragons, thank the Gods. With those steeds and skilled riders upon them, he has a flying strike force, far faster than any man can march."

"I've spoken with the folks here", Bors offered, coming from the local tavern. "They say he's also added a handful of hired ninja from the west to his levies. The perfect riders, and even without them they're bloody hard to catch with soldiers if they don' wanna fight. Seems he's goin' for speed over strength here."

"Speed can still kill you", Warren Moon commented grimly. "Between the air cavalry and the assassins, no position in Sharom is safe from enemy raids. The faster we get to Parcival and end it, the better." Curious, he glanced over at Fubuki, who had been hunched over by a fountain in his armour and facemask, not moving a muscle. "Awake in there, sir Fubuki? I had thought the mention of the Ninja order might rouse your spirits." The blood-red Samurai merely grunted.

"There are ways to deal with it", Destin proclaimed to his assembled chiefs, looking excited for appearances' sake. "And we're going to use them. Sir Blaine. I'm going to be transferring all of my archers into your division, and all of your foot soldiers into mine. Is that alright?"

Taken aback, the magi simply nodded, stroking his tiny doll to prepare it for the battle ahead.

"Good. You're to stay with the main force, and save your arrows. Only when someone sights a griffin- or any other flying creature controlled by the enemy- will you open fire on it. Your own magic is at your discretion, of course."

Warren coughed. "I hate to interrupt, boy, but like Bors here I've also taken some time to smell the booze in this town. There's rumours about that the Wind Rider was sighted on the islands to the west of here."

He only paused a moment to remember who Warren spoke of, and snapped his fingers in triumph. "The one you couldn't get, right? He'd be _perfect _for disrupting their cavalry. I'll journey there myself and investigate. The rest of you form a line protecting the mountains near the Roshian temple for the moment. Keep Blaine's division at the rear, but fall back to this town and send runners the moment you see any sign of the ground force. Lans takes the centerline, Bors the left flank near the lake, Warren and Fubuki the right flank. Are we clear?"

One by one, the division leaders nodded, silent but intent on their new roles. And so Destin departed with a mixture of Blaine's swordsmen and his own, equally intent on locating a forgotten hero.

He did not notice the way one of his chiefs tracked his receding figure with graven eyes, watching, and waiting.

* * *

The journey across the shallows was wet and slow. Every second he was out of sight of his battle line felt like an hour to Destin, so badly did he itch to find some way to ensure Gilbert had not launched some new kind of attack against the rebel force he hadn't foreseen. Theoretically the old beast tamer should have had no idea that the rebel leader and many of their soldiers were missing, but telling this to his imagination was a futile gesture. If a suitably strong ground and air force attacked together without hesitating, there was no way he would be able to get back in time to prevent a complete rout and the deaths of dozens of rebels. He'd seen pictures in books of a professional Ninja Master's handiwork. It wasn't pretty.

The large island upon which Canopus, the 'Wind Rider' had supposedly been spotted held a second Roshian temple in its tiny clutch of mountains. Destin skipped it- warriors only travelled to such temples for prayer and healing, and by all accounts this Wind Rider was never a terribly religious sort. Ba'Wahl, on the other hand, was the ideal, out-of-the-way little refugee city for one who wished to remain close to Sharom proper... But not too close.

A scant few men in Imperial red patrolled the streets, but they did not bother changing the city's flag yet for this was recon duty, not a proper liberation. Discarding their armour in a basin to the south, his men still wore their own personal outfits underneath, impossible to distinguish from a true Ba'wahl citizen. Spreading out across the network of courtyards and lanes, it was not long before one of Blaine's younger men came to Destin in the tavern and whispered into his ear.

Yet unlike the others which scurried away from all eyes and covered their distinguishing features in cloth Canopus had not tried very hard to hide himself after all, and apparently the city obliged his desire for solitude. Taking residence with a cartographer loyal to him, he spent most of his time in that house when not on the job. As the rebel's leader stepped into his room on the second floor, the Wind Rider refused to even part his head from where he'd been staring out the window into the streets. Aside from the matter of his magnificent feathered wings, he could easily have passed for a human, which Destin assumed he did when outdoors. A simple cloak would be sufficient to hide them if one took care.

"Ah", the Wind Rider finally acknowledged him and his newly assigned second-in-command beside him, a 'green' yet above-average knight in blue armour of the odd moniker of Tally. "You would be that group of barbarians, the 'rebel forces', yes? You took longer than I expected."

"The governor did not make things simple", Destin told him peaceably, noting how the bird man flinched at the mention of Gilbert. "Perhaps you might wish to express your displeasure to him?"

Canopus barked a laugh, still fully intent on the window. "Not that easy, human. I can hardly throw my lot in with you when I'm not even sure what it is you're fighting for, yes? Care to share?"

The rebel leader sat and pondered for a moment, then nodded at Tally. "For sake of our people, of course. Zenobia has groaned under Imperial rule for twenty four years now. They deserve better than that."

"And you think you can give it to them?", the bird man extrapolated scornfully. "Idiocy. Well, at least you seem to have a sense of honour about you. My friend threw away whatever honour he had left 'for the sake of our people'. What have 'our people' ever done in return, I ask you? You could be twice what Gran was and they would not be satisfied."

Uneasy about the Wind Rider's standoffishness, Destin shrugged. "You can't please everyone. I know in my heart the majority of them will appreciate what we do here."

Now the bird man finally turned from the window, content in his dismissal all the same. "Do you? Do you really? If that's your case, then this little chat is done, human. Move on, Destin of the rebel army. Go and slay another vile servant of the Empire. He's waiting for it."

Unable to hide his disappointment, but positive that nothing he said would change the bird man's mind, Destin motioned Tally onward, looking back one last time at the flying warrior Warren had hoped to recruit from the very beginning. "I guess this was just a big waste of time, then."

* * *

He'd expected to see a runner on the way back and was not disappointed there. They'd only just retrieved their armour and passed the island's Roshian temple when the familiar sight of a healthy man outfitted in light green fabrics solely for running came into view, breathless and urgent. "The enemy has come", he pronounced. "We repelled the air force, but then the ground forces marched on Vannu. They have wizards and ninja among their ranks. We've not yet recovered from the first battle, though the clerics are doing their best."

"On our way, full speed", Destin assured him. "Tell them so. If the battle goes ill, they have permission to retreat to Llwelyn. Let captain Hamilton make the final call- he's in charge until I return."

With that out of the way, he and sir Tally went about rousing the men from their rest in various places about the temple grounds. Some were grouchy and some were tired, but all understood the importance of it, and so before long he'd seen the last one crossing over the first hilltop towards the shallows to the east, framed by spires of rock that served to focus the beams of a setting sun, making him squint before heading up the trail himself.

A familiar sight stood before him on the mountain road. Blood-red armour more exotic than Zenobian knights, with a facemask instead of a visor concealing the wearer's emotions. A thin but ponderously long blade in its sheath, marked with incomprehensible easterling insignia all along its great edge.

"I knew you'd be the last one up", Selec Fubuki remarked conversationally. "It's such an easy habit. Makes people think you care."

Destin gaped in contrast. "What are you doing here, Fubuki? Did I not order everyone to hold the line around Vannu?"

The samurai inclined his head. "You did. We stood and fought while you went off to play with the Wind Rider. He's not here, is he?"

Remembering his failure and the bird man's harsh words, Destin hung his head. "No. He's given up fighting. Something- I can't tell what- has extracted whatever fighting spirit he once had. But that's beside the point, my friend, we must hurry!"

He'd taken tow steps forward when a hard and fast slice from the samurai made him realize the full extent of the danger. His men had gone on, Tally at their head to get them back to Vannu even if Destin did not follow. "I don't recall ever saying that we were friends", Fubuki reprimanded him coldly. "In my line of work, even my own second-in-command dares not use the 'f' word, not when he knows we might one day fight on opposing sides. Such as now."

Grasping his meaning, his mind recoiled in denial. _No. _Not now. Not when the battle might be won or lost without his presence. "You haven't sold us out to the Empire."

The traitorous chief nodded sadly. "They wouldn't pay enough for your head, at least not yet. No, this is simply a course correction. I'm doing what I should have back at the Tor. Draw your sword, kid."

Reluctant, but also knowing his chief would not have challenged him if he had the option to walk away from it, Destin grasped his blade, holding it at the ready. "This isn't the time, sir Fubuki. Once Parcival is fallen, we can have it out with each other. If that is the only way to satisfy you."

No emotion showed through that gray mask. The other man simply waved his katana through the air as if to dismiss the offer. "That assumes your stooges can even take Parcival. It's been a lark, this comedy, pretending we're a real army and everything. Kind of fun, really... but it's time you faced reality kid. You've never fought before now. You've spent your entire life on Warren's Tor, not Zenobia. You're the very definition of green, and such a commander's luck won't hold against real strategists... or against _bushido._" Without waiting for an answer, he rushed at Destin with a downward slash, piercing dust clouds but no flesh.

Seeing little other option but vowing he would not kill the estranged chief if he could avoid it, Destin drove his own blade into Fubuki's guard, suddenly faster than his opponent in no small part thanks to his lighter armour. The strange black shoulder-plates that composed samurai armour would keep his blade from piercing anything vital. The chief drove Destin away with his longer blade, a lifetime of practice evident in his careful slashes, taking great care never to overbalance himself or leave himself unguarded. The easterling's macroscopically thin blade had been witnessed cleaving bone and rocks as easily as fruit, and Destin did not wish to test how well his own armour would hold up against the lightning-quick, wide strikes now coming his way. Perhaps the vambrace could be risked, but nothing else.

"A warrior does not make a commander", he told Fubuki after withdrawing to a safe distance. "You think I don't know you're decades more experienced at warfare than I? But you have only ever commanded your own small band. In the realm of large-scale strategy, sir Fubuki, we are both the novice."

His foe did not falter. Another wide slash decapitated a rock spire, nicking Destin's leg at the end of its arc. "And what was the deciding factor then, eh? What made _you_ so special? A few pieces of paper and ink? The word of a crazy old man?"

Rolling in the dust and coming up to block the next strike with his bracer, the rebel leader felt his own anger beginning to simmer. "Warren Moon is a great man!"

"Great at choosing the single worst person to lead us. A no-name orphan who can't kill without crying."

Unable to compensate for the advantage of a longer blade, Destin scowled as he fell back before a flurry of slashes. His opponent spoke close to the truth. "So you're saying our leader should be a career killer then? Someone who only knows how to slay and maim and cut, and tough luck to the thousands of peasantfolk who prayed nightly for a liberator with a conscience?"

His only answer was a rising cut on his right that struck sparks at it impacted his blade. His instant of shock was all Fubuki needed to shift the weight of his katana and send Destin's weapon flying off the cliffs. The victor did not spend any time gloating or savouring it, merely raising his blade to the afternoon sun, holding it there in order to deliver a clean finisher to the head. "Final words, oh glorious leader?"

"You're making a mistake", Destin replied, kneeling as if to be knighted. Inwardly, however, he felt a strange calmness descending, shutting down his heart. _Of course. This is how it ends. Fortunes of war. My retribution for slaying two Zenobians who only wished to defend their home. Do it. Strike me down. Free me from my nightmares._

He felt the steel edge slam into his forehead, an impact that shook every other bone and ounce of blood... Yet he had lost nothing. A shattering noise opened his eyes to the impossible truth, seeing identical shock on Fubuki's face as his katana _cracked_.

Wasting no time to contemplate, he lunged forward, tackling the chief to the ground and placing his backup weapon, a short but heavy fishing dagger, to his neck-piece and keeping one foot on the cracked sword. "Yield."

Too shocked to speak, Fubuki settled for merely dropping his blade, lying helpless for a handful of seconds before finding his voice, though it still sounded as though he was speaking passionately to the Gods and not to Destin. "Impossible. That... that's impossible. The shatterpoint... is less than one thousandth of the blade's diameter. How. How?"

The younger warrior understood enough about swords to know some of what the traitor spoke of. No matter how revered or well-forged, all human-made metal-workings contained an infinitesimally small spot somewhere on them that would wreck it if it impacted on something approaching its own density... such as the bones of his skull. _Warren would of course make a corny joke about my having a hard head._ That, and outrageous Fortune, had saved him from death. He felt it wise not to test them further than that. "I _told_ you you were making a mistake. Do you believe me now?"

Both men waited. Selec Fubuki remained too stunned by the inhuman luck of his conqueror to move or to speak anything more than disjointed gibberish, and Destin dared not let him up for fear of reprisal. The only way either of them would ever be able to rise again would be if the rogue chief gave in. The wait was as much a test for Destin as his foe, for Gods only knew what had been happening at Vannu while they'd been duelling. Regardless, he'd think of a suitable punishment for this attack at a less urgent date.

At last, when the sun's ray began to warm Destin's back to an oddly comfortable glaze, the samurai breathed out. "...I don't understand it. How? How could you know?"

There was only one obvious answer. It was one that Destin rejected with all his soul and knew would cause Fubuki to moan at the cliche, but there it was. "Destiny, it seems, has my back. Do you _yield_, sir Fubuki?"

The veteran's brows darkened, but his voice held no further threat for the moment. "Urgh... I do. If only to learn what sorcery allowed you to face my strike without the slightest doubt you would live."

Destin decked him. Hard. Temporarily satisfied, both men stood, dirtied and beaten, but still two forces on the battlefield that might be solely missed if they did not hurry.

* * *

"ALL RIGH' YA LAZY DOGS, LE'S SEN' THESE BASTARDS BACK TO HELL!", came Bors' furious-sounding battle cry at the front of the rebel line surrounding the city of Vannu. All along it, men roared in concurrence and laid into their foes with a new and bloody fervour.

Towards the rear of the formation, Emily Cashel shuddered and forced herself not to wince away from the deafening yell, continuing to apply herbs to the wounded fighters brought before her. She did not understand why their commanders had to be so loud, or even how they managed to howl in a voice that echoed from the mountains. Did all men really derive some kind of special motivation from having an armoured brute like Bors or Lans shout obscenities at the top of their lungs when they were articulate at all? It all seemed so unnecessarily terrifying, competing with the horrors of the battle itself to drive her back to her temple where she would at last be safe from the madness.

Still, her fellow clerics were no doubt just as scared. None of them had admitted it yet, and so it became a game of who would crack first. Smart money was, as usual, on her. The youngest of her chapter. Always the easiest to frighten, always the first to retreat to a warm bed after the day's chores were done. An inferior student in the holy mysteries of Roshian, if not quite the worst. Just barely good enough to accompany Sister Yenda on this terrible mission. Even now, that stern, iron-willed woman was off a ways to the west dealing with Lans Hamilton's injured with unparalleled healing skill among the rebels.

Once again, she'd been too distracted, her mind wandering away from prayer- the milk-white light she'd managed to coax from her staff over one of the fallen rebels faded. The young man horked up another mouthful of blood on his mail jacket and groaned, his head lolling off to the side with dulled eyes and a ragged pulse. Grateful Yenda hadn't been around to see her curse, Emily frantically set about trying to stabilize the man's body, again resorting to Valna's healing herbs instead of her own connection with the Gods. The latter required one's mind to be in peace and tranquillity, all concentration devoted to a single, humble prayer to the powers above for mercy for that victim's soul. If that soul was deemed by Them to be worth saving, the light would engulf the victim and remove any and all injuries that threatened to take them from this world too soon.

In theory. She might never know how Yenda or the others did it.

It was hard enough to manage when there weren't sounds of chaos and death and screams all around you. No matter how hard she tried to channel the divine power as she'd been taught in the convent, she could not stop looking back at the carnage unfolding before her. Seven of the red-haired brute Bors' remaining men against an even number of soldiers in Imperial red, plus a pair of the ill-regarded Ninja. When they stopped long enough to be seen, Emily noted they wore form-fitting green suits one of the knights had called 'dogis' that concealed everything but their eyes, perfect for blending into a forest but not quite as effective here. Despite this, they leaped to and fro with inhuman speed, seemingly without regard for the established battle lines. Wherever they went, rebel soldiers were struck by small knives or left with even smaller collections of metal strips stuck in various unpleasant areas.

Then, one of these noticed the rear formation and leaped clear over a knight and a Worgen to drop down right in front of her, two knives raised to strike. A nightmare made real, and all the worse by the fact that she could only make out her assailant's brown eyes, focused, skilled and determined. Everything she was not.

One of Blaine's less attractive archers shouted, made an effort to drive him back, but the ninja simply vaulted forward past the arrows, taking Emily in the face with a brutal kick. Knocked to the grass, she felt for her cheek and drew the hand back with countless tiny drops of red. Spikes. They were wearing _spikes_ on their shoes. Did every piece of their outfit do nothing but maim and kill and bleed?

All her nagging inquiries were silenced, however, when she saw the injured soldier's face. He'd rolled over on his side, too delirious to even understand what the strange weight was upon his rib cage, or who she was and what she was supposed to be doing.

_I'm __**supposed **__to be a Cleric. I'm __**supposed **__to save you, save people's lives from the Thirteenth_

She'd supposed wrong.

Snip.

Emily did not require training to know the man's soul had departed. She could feel it, see it in those horribly wide eyes that stared into infinity. It was wrong. It was all wrong. Without even seeing if the ninja was going to try and kill her too, she broke and ran, ran, ran away with a thousand nightmares on her heels.

* * *

The city of Vannu witnessed a prolonged and bloody struggle that afternoon, with its cries of war reaching far into the evening before one of the battle lines departed at long last, beaten but not broken. Unable to find a suitable way to express to his people how apologetic he was for being absent from such a close fight- perhaps the first truly challenging battle the rebellion had faced- Destin had settled for calling a strategy meeting in the city hall, with each chief at a long table reporting in their fortunes in the way of losses. Selec Fubuki was nowhere to be seen.

"Three dead in my group", Lans Hamilton confirmed. "A dozen more wounded beyond the cleric's ability to cure but brought to the Roshian temple before their souls departed. I've already paid the priests- They'll be ready to march tomorrow."

"Two dead", Bors piped up stiffly. "One deserter. A cleric."

"She's not the only one", Warren acknowledged, sadly nursing his drink, something local given a bit of apple cider. "We had two archers in Blaine's wing 'crack', and one soldier. Mayhap they were simply too young."

"It happens", Blaine Diwrnach shrugged. "They didn't seem to mind when they were _winning_, I noticed. What shall we do with them, boss? Fire, perhaps?"

Destin took a deep breath and forced his eyes open. The loss of a full tenth of the rebel army was a disaster in itself, but on top of that now there was the matter of deserters. Where would they run to, and what would they do when they recovered from their fear? "We'll leave them be for now. Only they can decide whether they have the strength of will to help save Zenobia. It is no good forcing them."

"That is all well and good", the doll magi protested, hands on his hips. "But what happens when they_ all _give up and run home to their mommies?"

"T'won't happen", Lans argued, pounding the table. "Well. _My_ men won't, and the more the sprouts fight, the more they'll be able to handle. Give them time. I still remember how frightened I was after _my_ first casualties."

"I have been thinking about that", Destin cut in with one eye towards his old friend. "Their air force was shot down, if nothing else. I'd like to do some further reorganizing of the divisions tonight if I may." Ignoring Blaine's laughter at his courtesy, he turned his attention to a faded parchment map of the region spread before them, palming the intricate ink stains as if trying to rip Gilbert's men from the earth. _If only._

"Now, then. Tomorrow. The obvious route to castle Parcival is via the merchant town of Latingurue. Naturally, governor Oblion will have all or most of his ground forces positioned to defend it. However...", his eyes flashed beneath his hair, "...it's nol the only route available. If we go further south from Sagebard, there's a bridge across the river to a city called Chang'Ga. From there, you have another bridge and a clean run to the castle."

"A dangerous game, lad", Bors commented once they'd all recovered from how assertive the young man was suddenly acting. It was surprising, but welcome. "Gilly 'imself will still be in there. We take too long and we'll have beasties in front of us an' soldiers behind." He tapped Sagebard's representative dot. "What about this place?"

"That's why I'm dividing us into two groups", Destin explained. "My division will head to Chang'Ga with Bors, the majority of Sister Yenda's group and Warren. Lans will lead Blaine and Fubuki's lot out to within three miles of Latingurue to keep an eye on the enemy forces there. If they charge you fall back to here again. If they abandon the city and run back to Parcival, you follow them and attack- Gilbert's not the only one capable of a pincer movement."

Puzzled further still, Blaine regarded his leader. "Did you... hit your head or something, kiddo?"

But the young fighter only smiled and rapped his helmet. "I'll explain later. You all need to rest up for tomorrow- I'll provide you with lists of your new group assignments in the morning. Any further questions? No? Dismissed."

One by one, the leaders departed, all save for Warren Moon. The Sage hung on his walking staff, seeming just as curious as Blaine. He would not be put off so easily. Ignoring him and having pages bring out the roster lists for the rebel army did nothing to make him leave.

"So, the Wind Rider has truly given up all hope?", he finally enquired when it became clear his pupil would simply finish redoing the lists and head up to bed rather than speak his mind.

"In as many words", Destin agreed, not looking up from his paperwork. "He claims to be unable to see much of difference between the rebels and Empire."

"Did he say why?"

He paused. Dipped his quill. Paused again. "Something to do with his best friend. Likely just another turncoat knight."

"_Gilbert_ is his best friend, you impossible fool."

_That_ stopped his quill altogether. He looked up, stunned. "So. To join us now would be to go against his friend. Perhaps if I spoke with him after our victory here?"

The Sage shook his head and _tsk_ed. "You are unfamiliar with the mind of the bird-man, boy. They do not trust any human, save those they've been around for years and become friends with. Perhaps even more than Gilbert, Canopus Walf's faith needs rebuilding before he will act. Gilbert, on the other foot, will not surrender control of his people and lands to a stranger. You'll be forced to kill him, alienating the Wind Rider in spite of all the reasons you have for doing so."

Destin looked back at Parcival on the map, trying to piece together the clues to the future. Perhaps Warren had seen this in his readings. "I left Lans out of the planning for more than one reason, Warren. I'll not have him duel and kill another governor just because _I _was too cowardly to step in and stop him." Finally, his defenses had crumbled. Once he'd started talking to his old mentor, he could not stop until the real issue surfaced. "Master... I'm losing control, here. The Empire had spies in our ranks before we even began. Selec Fubuki tried to usurp and kill me yesterday. Our first deserters_ and _casualties at a battle I wasn't even present for. Dissension and fear everywhere. North Sharom wasn't bad- Usar was a drunken lout- but this is different. Lord Oblion's got ten times the battle experience that I do, and stronger forces." He spread his arms helplessly over the map. "What can be done?"

Seemingly unmoved- it was simply his way- Warren studied the map. "Fool. You're well aware of your options, boy. You know what can be done. All that remains is the will to make the decisions, and I can't help you there."

"True enough", his pupil acknowledged grudgingly, starting to cross their casualties and deserters off the lists. "Much of what Fubuki said to me reeked of unpleasant truths... But I dare not back out now. We must finish this battle. More than that, I must prove to our people that_ I _am deserving to lead them." Taking several of Blaine's archers off that list, he proceeded to write them onto a new roll of parchment. "I shall lead the assault on Parcival tomorrow. There will be no honour duels. We shall bring governor Oblion down, whether dead or alive. All I ask is your support in this endeavor."

"You shall have it", the Sage answered, for once completely serious. "What will you do about sir Fubuki?"

Destin tapped one of the lists with the quill. "Here. In my personal division. He has another samurai, Liat Nusa, for his second in command. Older fellow with one eye. Good head on his shoulders though. Sir Liat will run Fubuki's division until I see fit to restore his command to him."

Warren stepped back, at once unsure if he was serious. "You... you strip this man's division out from under him and place him in the perfect position to drive his sword into your back? Have I mentioned how proud Fubuki is? Have I mentioned lately how _foolish _you are, boy?"

"Trust me, Warren", he replied, and this time the Sage could not disparage his conviction, unexplained as it might be. "For the time being, sir Selec Fubuki may just be my most reliable warrior."

He sighed, reaching into his dusty robes. "If you say so. Here you are, then. A gift. A memento of promises made, so to speak."

Destin took the item and looked closely, not sure of what to expect- Warren never gave him any presents even for his birthday, and Lans' only gift had been his armour and sword. It was a Tarot card by the look of its border, yet it held no identifying picture or numerical indicating which of the Zenobian pantheon of twenty-two it represented. Only a vacant white looked back at him, devoid of detail.

"A blank Tarot card", he commented dumbly. "Thanks?"

Warren decked him. "It is _your_ card, boy. Did you really think Lancelot would allow me to bring this whole thing together without first performing a traditional reading for you? We kept the results hidden of course, else it would have changed the outcome and made them worthless."

"Then, this is...?"

"The reading of your future, boy. Amazing thing, really- there are twenty-two Tarot in the traditional deck, and after seeing this reading I went back over them to ensure one of my cards had not somehow had saltpeter spilled on it. Suddenly, I had twenty _three_ cards. The originals, and the reading that only you have ever made. It wasn't the Fool card, oddly enough."

"My reading", Destin repeated, scarcely believing. A twenty-third Tarot. The fact that his future was free of any controlling influence...

Meant nothing, really. It didn't change the myriad obstacles which had already appeared before him before he was ready, nor the measures he'd planned to overcome them. The loyalty and respect of the masses could not be demanded from such a weak man, only earned. Pocketing the blank card, he stared back at the lists, editing studiously but not needlessly, never satisfied until each division was outfitted to accomplish its task.

The Moon Sage remained at his side, all through the night, until the candle was but a white puddle upon the dish.


	5. Revolution

**Revolution**

**

* * *

**

**Tarot III - Empress**

_Having decided what shape his future will take, the Fool strides forward. But he is impatient to make his future into a full-grown reality. This is when he comes upon the Empress. Her hair gold as wheat, wearing a crown of stars, and a white gown dotted with pomegranates. She rests back on her throne surrounded by an abundance of grain and a lush garden. It is possible that she is pregnant._

_Kneeling, the Fool relates to her his story. And she, in turn, smiles a motherly smile and gently gives him this advice: "Like newly planted grain or a child in the womb, a new life, a new love, a new creation is fragile. It requires fertile soil, patience and nurturing, it needs love and attention. Only this will bring it to fruition." Understanding at last that his future will take time to build and create, the Fool thanks the Empress and continues on his way._

_

* * *

_

The rebel forces marched early the next day, hoping to preempt whatever strategy their enemy had planned. Though several of the chiefs had balked upon seeing how much their divisions had been reorganized, Destin was gone too quickly to face complaints. Well aware of how late their leader had been up making plans last night, Bors kept an eye on him for the duration of the journey to the hub city Chang'Ga, looking for the telltale yawn or tripping.

There was none. Destin appeared to have no trouble briskly marching at the head of the entire arrangement of troops, with sir Tally's sky blue armour several paces behind his left, and Fubuki to his right. Armed with his spare katana, the masked samurai had not said a word to anyone since his exclusion from the meeting, but that was hardly new. Rumours ran about the army of what had passed between the two, but neither witness spoke of it.

Chang'Ga lay framed by two tributaries forming a lumpy oval from two places 5 miles apart where the river split. As much a hub of commerce as its neighbour, the city was not built to house an army, nor to repel one. So it was that the force Gilbert had assigned to protected it formed their line outside the cluster of warehouses and breweries draped in red flags, once again using the twin river fords as indestructible flanks.

Squinting in the sun, Destin believed for a moment his eyes had deceived him. For at the head of this medium-strength battle line was none other than sir Bernard Rothchild, looking slim but defiant and ready for battle. "Now this does not look too unfamiliar", he couldn't help but jest at his foe once the lines had closed to striking distance. "Where is Halak, sir Bernard?" He referred to Gilbert Oblion's own chief suboordinate, a black-skinned Wizard well known for sharing Gilbert's kindness to commoners, as well as an aptitude for chilling ice magic.

"Dead", Bernard replied stiffly, accusing. "An arrow through his throat. His soul departed this world before we could get him to the temple to call him back."

Destin blinked, realizing what the enemy command had let slip in his grief. "Oh? Truly? You could not get him to a Roshian temple? Which one would _that_ be, sir?"

His normally bland features curled into fury, Bernard let loose a stream of southerling curses. "No matter. Now it is more imperative than ever that we defeat you here, for _her _sake. Prepare yourself, sir Destin."

Their customary exchange completed, both commanders returned to their lines, both doing their best to whip the men into a state of battle frenzy nearing madness. Recalling the voice he'd used when addressing the many towns they'd liberated, Destin made sure to note the enemy's poor composition, their lack of manhood or spines, and particularly how their commander was so stupid he'd accidentally revealed the existence of a third Roshian temple somewhere in the region. "FIGHT IT OUT!", his own group bellowed together, twenty men minus Fubuki screaming what was becoming their personal battle cry. "LONG LIFE TO GRAN!", Bors' own division echoed back in equal volume on their far left. Ruclomb and Pheles howled fiercely, and already he saw Warren charging a sphere of blindingly white ice to unleash on the enemy's centerline.

Without warning, three ninjas burst forth from the enemy line the moment it began to advance. Faster than the dozens of arrows that sought them, they sprinted towards Destin unleashing shuriken and brandishing assassin's short daggers. Destin recognized the tactic instantly; the three fleet-footed killers could not possibly hope to win against forty fresh troops with archer and cleric support, but their deaths would be completely worth it if they were able to bring down the rebel leader. Him.

Pheles pounced, driving one to the ground, but then the other two were upon him. Lunging forward at the last second in an overhead parry, he caught the first ninja off guard with a kick before bringing his blade down on the man's chest. He rolled with the soon-to-be corpse, feeling shuriken strike his armour and stick there like tiny badges of merit. Another dagger strike pierced his cuff, leaving blood and blue rags behind. Pulling that arm back, he took the next strike on his vambrace before finally seeing the last ninja slow down enough to be seen.

Another rush wouldn't work. He had been bracing with his sword for another shuriken barrage when Fubuki's four-foot katana swept through the enemy, halving so cleanly that they waited several seconds before blood began to appear. The rest of the group had caught up with him now, forming up their line just as instructed. By the looks beneath the simple steel helmets of several of the fresh-faced rookies, driving off the attempt on his life had galvanized them. In their simple little minds, no such leader could be beaten on the battlefield. Ergo, neither could they.

The enemy forces had lost their last wizard to Warren's magic and would surely die, yet no sign of retreat came from sir Bernard's centerline. The fight was small enough so that Destin could see the man, still slashing and guarding and killing even through he must have known the battle to be lost. Finally, Fubuki reached him as well, piercing his faded brown armour down the chest plate before stabbing him deep.

"Don't...", Bernard gurgled out blood, close enough for Destin to hear his final words over the receding din. "Only endanger... her..."

That did it for the rest of them. Three Imperial knights and five archers ran for their lives, dodging arrows and spells before passing out of sight. Ignoring the cheers, Destin knelt down, feeling a tingle as the clerics went about their work of healing the rebel injuries.

"Sister Yenda", he called to the top-ranked cleric upon seeing her working on an arrow wound for Tally. "Can you save this one?"

They had not talked often with her not being an official division leader, and so the teacher-like sternness in her green eyes came as something of a surprise. "Compassion is divine, m'lord, but... why?"

"He never wanted it", Destin lamented sadly, not caring if she did not understand. "Like Gilbert, Bernard's whole reason for joining the Empire was based on fear of reprisals against innocent people."

Now looking the fallen knight over, she shook her head. "He's too far gone. Samurai swords are the sharpest weapons in Zenobia, capable of cleaving rocks or flesh with equal swiftness. They don't leave very much for us to knit back together, at least not for low-level healers. I'm sorry, my lord. He's doomed."

She sounded like she meant it, and Destin carefully pulled off the man's helmet, closing his eyes. "Now we _have_ to win", he whispered to the corpse. "We're past the point of no return, sir Bernard. On my oath, what you fear will never come to pass. Rest now. We'll meet again someday." Neither cleric nor samurai knew what to say after that, simply waiting and watching as their leader arranged for a servant to transport the body to Chang'Ga using the armoury wagons.

Apart from these rare exceptions of mercy from an enemy, it is a well-known fable in Zenobia that a man's deeds in life were reflected upon both body and soul in death. If a fighting man had a family or close friends, they would find the field upon which he had fallen and whisk him to the closest city graveyard where he could be properly buried. If not, the body would remain there, food for the scavengers until it was nothing but a skeleton in metal coating, an eternal monument to their lack of compassion for their fellow man in life. Sir Bernard's family had been dead for many years, but still he had friends. One friend, anyway. _Don't. You'll only endanger her._

"Come", Destin ordered at last, looking up into the crest on Sister Yenda's blue cap. "We've a temple to locate."

* * *

The temple's bells chimed in the morning light, but there was really no way to tell if the bloodletting madness was over yet without risking peeking out from one's hands. Emily Cashel sat quivering in the temple's mezzanine, wondering what had become of the men and women she'd left behind out of stark terror. Perhaps they'd all died.

It made little difference. She could just picture how the others would treat her if ever she attempted to return to the rebel army. The young soldiers would laugh, her fellow junior clerics would tease and mock and torment as young girls did among their peers, and Sister Yenda... would be Sister Yenda. Even she was not so foolish as to believe the rebel leaders would ever trust in her again, and the Empire certainly would not be feeling charitable towards a detachment of the Roshian Order. What could she do? The priests here would not let her stay forever. Once the rebel army moved onwards and no longer sent their wounded here, she would be expected to be gone, either back to the rebels or back to the convent... or Avalon. As lengthy a trip that might be, it seemed far more amiable than running back to Fubuki, or admitting failure in front of higher-ranking clerics.

Inch by inch, finger by finger, she pried away her hands and looked around at the temple walls. The priests were busy as ever attending to wounded rebels, though for the moment the influx seemed to have abated. Lightly, carefully, she made her way down the steps-

And directly into Blaine Diwrnach coming the opposite way. Cursing her clumsiness she stood, unsure if the doll magi would recognize her from the night before.

"Whoa there, little lady", Blaine commented once he'd pried himself up off the ground. "Here I thought followers of Roshian were supposed to be reserved and prudent. Are you prudent, child?"

Lost for words, she could but stammer. "I... I... I...!"

Leaning over and making ridiculous pantomimes with the cloth-sewn doll that ironically the source of so much of a Karma wizard's power, Blaine smirked. "Quite a name you've got there. Didn't see you at the game yesterday. Which division were you with?"

"I... Fubu's!"

The man's face darkened. While he was at least as handsome as Destin with his golden locks and thin face, she noticed for the first time that on the rare occasions when Blaine Diwrnach was truly angry, he looked more malicious than even Governor Usar Ferghus. "No wonder you had to come here and heal. Little _pes'shyk_ thinks he can just waltz away and abandon us-" Bouncing back to his usual self, he blushed. "Oops. Shouldn't have said that one outside a temple, should I?"

Spurred on by warmly inviting eyes of brown, she permitted a small giggle. "I am sure they will forgive you. It is one of the tenets of the Order, after all."

"Surety?"

"Forgiveness. All men make mistakes", she paused. "What could they do if they didn't forgive? Excommunicate you?"

Glad to have found her spark, the doll magi laughed. "Fat chance. Only reason I ever come here is to check up on my people and hit on the nuns." Waiting for a stretcher-bound archer to pass by, he became serious again. "I believe _that, _dear girl, is the primary reason why the Empire treats your Order of Roshian like cattle. Look at their Goddess Freya, their tenets. They only respect discipline and violence. How scared can one be of those sworn never to kill?"

"Being feared isn't everything", Emily offered him meekly. "It's an oath to compassion and goodness, and so we are allowed to propagate temples anywhere we wish. In fact, Roshian temples are so highly-respected in Zenobia that we've been entrusted with a number of priceless artifacts over the years, the better to keep them from the Empire."

"Textbook, textbook, textbook". She might have expected such ridicule from a mercenary who only paid lip service to the Gods, but never anticipated the way he shot his hand out, grabbing her by the hem of her dirtied robes and pulling her close to whisper. "Here we are, then, Prudence. Here I am, ready to commit what your Order considers the most vile act of man. It would be so _easy_. Who here in this respected temple of goodness and light and fluffy bunnies could stop me? Who would dare try?"

She could not reply, struck silent by so many surprising things about the scene. That a rebel chief, even a rogue such as Blaine, could go from casual joking with friends to a threatening tone more terrifying to her than the sight of blood which had driven her here. That he would find the audacity to make such dire claims in full view of a temple dedicated to chastity and virtue. Most of all, that though many of the priests and passerby saw what was going on, none had the courage to step up and warn him away. In whatever unknown time it took to digest all of it, she had sunk down, accidentally leaning against her attacker like a crutch. Four shocks too many today had left her numb.

"Sad truth of life, girl", he went on into her ear. "Is that the people with the weapons learn not to fear whatever waits for them in the world beyond this one. They tend to do whatever the hell they want, laws or no laws, God or no God. The only time a moral authority can ever stand proper is with a backbone of forged steel to discourage deviations- such a pity that all the Order's self-righteous paladins are congregated at Avalon this year. But of course, you already suspected as much, did you not?"

Make that _five_ shocks too many. What sort of magic did this terrible man use, that he was able to read the doubts in her heart so well?

"Of course you did. Only true believers in the power of good can wield the holy arts correctly, and you my dear, are simply too grounded in reality to play make-believe like the rest of your convent."

Yes. Of course. Every word he spoke was truth. Her legs ached. At some point, they'd moved away from the crowd to a more secluded part of the mezzanine. No one had followed them. "My whole life", she blubbered, not caring what he thought of her, "I've been taught the power of the holy light and the pantheon of Gods. But when it came down to it, I couldn't take it. I'm _useless_."

"At one task", Blaine corrected her sharply, pressing her close. "There are other Orders."

A low chuckle mixed with her sniffles. "Who take people in with no talent? Like Sir Destin, I've read up the various Orders of Zenobia. Knights, samurai, beast tamers, wizards... Most of them refuse to take in women on principle."

"It's an unfair world", the doll magi agreed wistfully. Emily knew his own order to have a similar stance. "The only question is if you decide to let such a cruel world abuse you 'till you die... or if you want to turn the tables."

"Tables?"

He withdrew a cloth-hide doll from his belt. Though Emily knew enough about Karmatic magic to recognize the trinket as a vital element of Karma magic, the tableau of seeing a grown man holding the doll with such reverence did little to put her at ease. "You can't win the game if you don't play. That's rule one. If you'd like to learn the rest of the rules, then come with me."

Her face fell. "Come with- But I can't rejoin the rebellion. Not now."

He winked back, a sly gesture so practised and effective she wondered if it was a part of the Order's curriculum. "Not as a _Cleric_, Prudence. Get yourself out of those ridiculous robes and we'll see if we can't find you a real weapon, eh?"

So many shocks had left her drained, only able to soak up each revelation as it came, but at least the instructions were clear. Too, she considered, there was something about this man which prompted one to similar levels of glibness. If one could not keep up with him, then they would certainly feel out of place in his division.

This being her last chance in any division, she swore that would not be the case. Nodded. "Just maybe, Emily Cashel died in the battle of Vannu. Maybe you found someone new to take her place."

"Could be", the handsome doll magi pretended to mull. "Time only knows. Welcome to my unit."

As they walked off, none of the priests looked back.

* * *

It was a similar enough confrontation in a similar enough holy site, but Destin had no knowledge of the symmetry as he ascended the stairs of Parcival's hidden Roshian temple to confront the woman knelt before the main altar, most of the priests paying little heed to either. Bird girl Yulia Walf was a common enough sight in the temple, and as separate as they were from the temples which made no efforts to hide themselves from the Empire, they knew full well why the rebel leader had come.

As did Yulia. Abased with her back to the altar her wings- smaller and younger than Canopus' but still a beautiful sight- were her most prominent feature. She wore little in the way of clothing, only a simple tan tunic and shorts with dirty white hair fallen down the back of it as long as her wings. Refusing to look at the less modest parts of her body for a multitude of very good reasons, Destin knelt down beside her and cupped his hands in penance.

"Sir Bernard's dead. Isn't he?", she asked him without looking up. How could one so young hold such sorrow in her voice? Destin thought back to his textbooks, trying to remember if the Winged Ones were to physically age faster or slower than humans. For all his research, parlaying with them was something he was rapidly showing his ineptitude in. "He is. He died trying to protect you... and Sharom."

"I thought so", she replied dully. "He's seen too many Imperial conquests to ever think them anything but invincible. But you, I think, just might have a chance." She rose with a warm smile, reminding Destin that for all the differences between them, the bird-people could still comprehend the joy of a child's innocence. According to the legends, they were descended from the angels who had lived in Zenobia before the dawn of man, retaining the magnificent wings and the grace of God's original children, but little of their holy magic or fabled serenity. Canopus himself was proof that they were drawing closer with each generation to human temperament than the divine beings of myth, and some of the Winged Ones were purportedly downright vicious. The infamous winged bounty hunter Ares, a fugitive of the Empire, was the foremost example.

"I'll not force you from here if you don't wish it, miss Yulia", he offered carefully. "I know perfectly well that he was hoping you'd be able to hide from the Empire's spies here forever. If they ever got their hands on you..."

"They could force my brother, the Wind Rider, into their service. As could _you_.", Yulia finished, staring directly back on the last word. "Believe me, I've lived with that knowledge all my life. Every time I take even one step out of here, the priests are like: 'You must remain here, miss Yulia, for your brother's sake, for the sake of the realm!' ", she mocked in a caricature of their piety. "But we're just fooling ourselves... I knew one day, someone would find this place even if Bernard never said a word; he was our secret-keeper."

Eagerness. That was it. A teenage girl's eagerness in her steps to finally leave this sanctuary which drove the young bird girl, tempered by the need to remain forced on her by zealous priests and her stoic older brother. "We would never use you to force your brother's hand, miss Yulia", he assured her. "I only seek a more gentle way of bringing him to his senses. He's completely given up on us. Doesn't even leave his home. Only you might know why that is."

Looking back, Yulia stroked his cheek as if to test it for corruption. "It's a sad story. Something out of a bard's song, even. One who likes his songs depressing. But it _happened_, mister Destin. I saw it all happen." Beckoning left, she led him by the arm from the grand hall into a small side room where no one could overhear. "Mister Gilbert and my brother were best friends for many years. Brother taught Gilbert to refine his technique in taming flying beasts without resorting to cruelty, and Gilbert introduced our clan to the king, brought us off our nests in the mountains after civilizing my brother for a while. I'm not sure how much he enjoyed the company of humans, but I know I did."

Her face dropped, restored to the sorrow she'd borne when he first arrived. "Then the Empire came, and everything changed. My brother fought as best he could. We all did, right to the shores of the capital... But it wasn't enough. Once King Gran died, Gilbert gave up on ever winning the war. Said he would do everything he could to protect the people of Sharom, including surrender."

"Like sir Bernard", Destin acknowledged, face downcast. "He believes we do more harm than good in breaking from the Empire. I understand their reasons. I really do."

"Yeah? Well, my brother _didn't_. I snuck out of bed, heard them arguing before our clan left Parcival." Yulia shivered hard at the memory and Destin clamped down on an urge to comfort her. "Worst. Night. Of. Life. I was ten."

_Slower, then. She might look and act like a teenager, but she's 34 years. Older than me. _ "Early on, I myself might have supported such a strategy. But it hasn't _worked_, lady Yulia. To the Empire's leaders, Zenobia and its vassals are nothing but supply depots for their war machine. They have no respect for our culture or history, or the well-being of our people. When a strategy fails, you don't keep trying it, hoping that it will suddenly work. I would have thought governor Oblion would understand that."

"I... don't think anyone put it to him that way before", she admitted. "But it might be too late. He's spent too long under the Empire's thumb, too much time appeasing his conscience with scraps. Everyone here totally recognizes him as the kindest of Zenobia's district governors from afar. In his interactions with those same people, though? He's become cold as ice."

Coming now to a cupboard, Yulia removed the floor board to reveal a hidden compartment, and withdrew what looked to Destin like a harp made from a bird man's wing. Five tiny lines of wood protruded from the main body, each one covered in white feathers. "Enough dilly-dally shilly-shally. This is called the 'Wing of Victory'. I made it for Gilbert when I was 7, as a reminder of our friendship when he travelled to far-off lands. I can't leave this temple just yet- not while the Empire controls the district... But show this to my lazy brother, and he'll know you carry my words to him."

Destin eyed the trinket carefully, still unsure if a bit of arts and crafts would be all it took to sway the jaded nihilist he'd met before. "Um. My thanks, milady."

She decked him "Stop with the 'milady' already. I get enough of that from the priests. Look, a really pretty girl is asking you a close favour, are you really going to say no?" Handing the wing over, she winked smartly. "Say whatever you have to to get him out of that stupid funk of his- he'll thank you for it later. Probably."

* * *

As he'd alternately feared and anticipated, the tactical situation in south Sharom had changed during Destin's absence. No sign of injury was present around the detachment he'd left within sight range of castle Parcival, but several were still recovering arrows or reforming hastily-erected formations. Moreover, the previously dead castle now bustled with a number of troops- it was not hard to deduce what had happened.

"In a hurry, were they?", he asked of Bors upon returned to their temporary base camp. "That's the force they had stationed at Latingurue?"

"Aye, m'lord", the hulking knight confirmed with a grin. "Knights, ninjas and a coupla valkyries. 'Bout thirty all told. Came tearing past us like the devil was on their tails. Either Lancelot spooked 'em or they got ordered back. 'Course, this is gonna make takin' the castle a migh' more difficult."

"We weren't ready then", he pointed out, not wanting his only reason for not pressing the attack right away to be a desire to spare Gilbert's life. "Still had to patch up our wounded, and our big problem isn't the army any more, but whatever beasts Gilbert keeps in the aerie." He'd seen enough Griffins by now to know they could not be fought like soldiers, even if the rebel archers had to have killed over half of them by now. Soldiers were not eight feet tall and long. Soldiers could not rip a man's weapon from his arms with one arm and shred his flesh with the other three and a curved beak. Soldiers did not have wings, and could not be trained to beat those wings and blow enemies over with hurricane-force winds.

"Are we ready _now_?", Bors shot back. " 'Nother three hours and it'll be nightfall. I don't really fancy sleepin' outdoors with less than a baum between me and enemy blades, milord. All due respect."

"We will be soon", Destin promised him. "Prepare the formation for Lans and Blaine's arrival- there's one final thing I have to take care of."

* * *

The bird man was still waiting at the same window in the same house as before, still looking cramped as ever. However impossible it was, Destin imagined he'd sat there all through the night, never blinking, never moving. Whatever progress he'd made in coming to know the Winged Ones with Yulia left him as he set foot in the room. Whether he joined or stayed, Canopus would always remain an enigma to him, uncommonly proud and demanding of his allies as he was his enemies. It would all be worth it, he reminded himself, if the Wind Rider's skills had not been exaggerated.

"Why have you returned, human?", the bird man asked him stiffly. "Have you forgotten my words to you already? My cause is dead as Gran."

"A cause is only dead when there's no fool left to fight for it, master Walf", the rebel leader countered, determined to start strong. "I have considered your words, and arrived at an answer."

"Have you, now", the Wind Rider said dryly, clearly expecting nothing but more empty talk. "And what is it, pray tell?"

"In a moment", Destin told him, removing the trinket Yulia had given him from his pouch. "First, I thought I might show you something."

In a flash, the bird man's attention had shifted from whatever light one could glean from an afternoon sun to the Wing of Victory. Suspicion was the first thing to register on his face, and he leapt to his feet, winged fluttering madly. "This... This is Yulia's...! You _pesh'yk_! If you touch her-!"

"We haven't taken her", he assured the suddenly violent warrior. "Nor shall we, even if you should refuse again. We do not _do_ that sort of thing, master Walf. That's just one of many important things that sets us apart from those we fight. Rather, I am here by your sister's own request. She says it is time for you to reconcile with your friend, and for you to turn that energy towards the people _truly_ responsible for your falling-out."

His temper assuaged, the bird man nonetheless remained scornful. "And we can kill all the other district governors and live happily ever after. Have you spent the last twenty-four years underground, boy? Zenobia was beheaded, figuratively and literally. King Gran is dead, along with his entire extended family. Anyone with the slightest right to inherit Zenobia's crown was executed that day. By the very person they trusted to safeguard the capital!"

"Captain Ashe?", Destin guessed, remembering the mythical man Lans and Bors so often cursed out in new and imaginative ways. Merely saying that name could get Lans riled up into a towering fury.

"Captain Ashe", the bird man nodded disdainfully and spat onto the floor. "Deceitful bastard. Our clan should have known better than to trust a _human_."

Deciding not to remark on the irony of such a comment, he continued on. "I'll be honest, Wind Rider- when we first started out, I hadn't planned that far ahead. But you're not the only one who's mentioned that problem to me. While Lans would disagree, a king on the throne is not a prerequisite for a good government."

"What other option is there?", Canopus derided his guest, though continuing to stroke the Wing of Victory to ensure it was real. "No kingdom survives long without a strong central authority. You know that. Leave a power vacuum behind and the districts will splinter apart into separate nations before the week is out. Zenobia will be no more, even if the Empire never bothers us again. Anarchy shall become the new king, and chaos His queen."

Destin bit his lower lip nervously, regretting it had come to this. _Say whatever you have to_, Yulia's plea echoed in his ears. "I know. But there will be time after the war is over, time in which we can decide upon a new leader. Until that decision is reached... I plan to volunteer to act as a _temporary_ leader in Zenobia. It is my duty to salve whatever damage my rebellion causes, whenever possible."

The Winged One was stunned, and for a moment Destin believed he'd broken through. After several seconds however, he laughed mockingly, wings stretching to his full height as an unconscious show of dominance, filling the room with white. "You? Ruler of Zenobia? Congratulations _human_, that's the most ridiculous thing I've heard all year. Even _if _all the districts were willing to accept a ruler not of royal blood, the last one they'd accept would be a bastard child, Destin ap _Neb_."

Unmoved by the bird man's taunting, Destin gritted his teeth and calmly raised one finger after another. "First: I'd not be ruling full time. I don't wish to do it any more than you want to see me on the throne- responsibility for the rebellion is giving me enough nightmares, thanks. Second: They would have no other choice but to accept a non-royal for the time being no matter what we did. No bloodline ever started out royal, and there are dozens of long-standing lines among the knights of this realm that are possible candidates for nobility. Third: Like I said, there are alternatives to a central ruler the people may be willing to accept. There is the kingdom of Malano, to the northwest of here. It was ruled by a council of wealthy merchant-princes, all in equal standing, before it was crushed under the Empire's boot heel. The same system might yet work for Zenobia."

A bit drained from the long recitation, he noticed that the Wind Rider was suddenly sitting very still, listening to him intently. He sighed, not sure if he'd won or lost. "Ultimately, master Walf, the final choice comes down to whether you believe Zenobia would be better off with the puppet government they have now, or an uncertain future. It's your decision, Wind Rider. No one, not your Hawk clan, not even your sister Yulia, can force you."

For a long time, the bird man remained like that, motionless in a blizzard of thought. He stroked his chin. He arched his dusty white wings, peering deeply into the human's eyes. "Leave me", he commanded at last. "You've given me much to ponder this night."

* * *

The siege of Parcival had been quick and brutal, but far easier than Destin would have dreamed until he and a handful of other men penetrated the grand hall where Gilbert himself waited. There would be no foolish duel challenges or dramatics by this enemy, for both sides remained disciplined even in the chaos of warfare.

With the full rebel army assembled, the rebel leader had turned to Warren and the dozen men he'd temporarily placed under the Moon Sage's command. All through the afternoon these men had busied themselves with the harvesting of wood from the surrounding forests and subsequent construction of a large wheeled contraption he'd only read about, never seen. A set of six wheels cut by sword and smoothed out with lime gel from Chang'Ga. A single massive spike of tree trunk mounted atop that, grounded by the rest of the chassis but flexible enough to swing to and fro on the rope which held it suspended. A battering ram- crude siege weaponry Zenobia had not seen for twenty four years.

Under the cover of two dozen archers, half of the workers had charged the main gate, hammering the massive spike into the gate in conjunction with Warren's fireballs, aimed towards the corners to avoid striking their own men with the resulting flaming debris. In five strikes the gate had crumbled, allowing Bors, Lans, Destin and Liat's divisions to storm the fortress. The place had been far better taken care of than Jindark but retained the same familiar floor plan, and so only after battling past a dozen flunkies did the rebels find their way to the hall's second floor.

Governor Gilbert Oblion stood from his seat, pulling a jet black whip taut calmly, as if the rebel attack was an everyday occurrence. "So it has come to this after all", his gravelly voice noted in resignation. "Yet even now it may not be too late." Ignoring the dozen warriors that faced him now, the dusty-bearded man extended one hand in hope. "Hear me, Destin ap Neb! Your people have fought very well to make it this far, and you have demonstrated ample valour in the face of a superior force. I offer you a final chance! Abandon this futile pursuit, and I shall try my very best to ensure you and your men are given jurisdiction over North Sharom. Between the two of us, this district can become a bastion of Zenobian culture and prosperity. In relative terms, it is the only sanctuary our people may know."

"I appreciate the sentiment, lord Oblion", Destin replied respectfully from behind his drawn sword, figuring it couldn't hurt. "And as with sir Bernard, I return your kind offer in similar terms. Join with us, and this entire kingdom can one day be restored to its former glory. I promise to shield you from all reprisals, Imperial or otherwise."

The old beast tamer looked remorseful. "If only you could, lad. If only you could. Why did you have to rebel against the Empire? I understand perfectly well why you hate them, but what you are doing now will only make things worse! For the sake of the people, I must defeat you now."

"You'll defeat us?", one of the soldiers asked skeptically, perhaps unfamiliar with the man's history or just stupid. "All alone? I don't think so, you traitorous-"

He was cut off as Gilbert whipped his head back and released a loud howling Destin had not known a human could make, something like a cross between a bird and a bear. That howl was echoed somewhere up above, and before any of them could cross the distance to attack the governor, a pair of huge dark shapes crashed into the room through the ceiling. Their avian grunting sounded like griffins with throat illnesses, but as Destin took in the dark green scales and large bat wings which coated both creatures, his memory jarred and he knew these were no birds.

"DRAGONS?", he exclaimed, almost too scared to dodge as the one on the right lanced its tail out at a frightening speed, crushing a pillar and knocking Lans flat. The second followed suit, knocking two more knights into a wall and impaling a soldier on one of its numerous spikes, instantly either dead or very close. "I thought you said he didn't tame those!"

"Good eye, lad.", Gilbert called to him from the carpeted dais, now lashing out with his whip against anyone who got past the creatures' snakelike tails and claws. "But your chiefs haven't lied to you..._ this _time. Garla and Mischa here are Wyrms, the evolutionary precursor to Dragons. Not as strong, long-lived or intelligent. But lighter, faster, more capable of flight, and most importantly; easier to domesticate. You have no chance against them, or me."

"We'll see", he shot back, trying to run up the middle to strike at the beast tamer while the rest of the surviving rebels dealt with his pets. One tail sliced the air over his head, and he was mere feet away from Gilbert when the second one slammed him back, tearing at the plate of his chest armour but striking no flesh. Screaming in fury, Lans brought his sword down on the interfering appendage, prompting an equally feral shriek from the Wyrm as Destin vaulted up to the dais.

The governor seemed vaguely impressed by that, but did not dwell upon it long before unleashing his own weapon. The whip glanced off several spots on Destin's armour yet still stung beneath the flesh. A final strike at his feet wrapped one leg to pull him over on his back, and then Gilbert produced a skinning knife.

Destin thrashed, but the older man was too strong to let him up so easily. "I'll make this quick", he whispered, lowering the knife to his neck, "no one else will have to die tonight for the Moon Sage's madness."

For indeed, no one else appeared to be in a position to help. Those who hadn't been killed or had the wind knocked out of them by the Wyrms were embattled by the creature's combined four spiked tails and fire breath, itself not as devastating as a Dragon's but still enough to heat armour to a point where their wearers would scream and writhe trying to remove it. While Lans had managed to sever one tail with a second overhand chop, he would never get there in time.

But the rebel leader only smiled.

A blaring, crowing noise stopped Gilbert a few inches from piercing the younger man's colon, precluding a winged figure gliding through an open window faster than Destin would have believed possible. It took Gilbert in the waist, bowling him off the dais and towards the Wyrm Lans has been battling.

The Wind Rider stood, no longer bent on fighting after that first charge, taking care only to look Gilbert in the eye and behold the shock that struck his withered face as a result. "C-Canopus?", the governor sputtered, disbelieving. "You have sided with these miscreants as well?"

The bird man gave no sign of recognition or feeling, only sparing Destin's rising form a momentarily look. "It's unfortunate, old friend, but these miscreants and rookies and pretenders are the only people left with the backbone to do what's right anymore. When all other attempts have failed, what is left but the Court of Swords?"

Awestruck, the governor looked like he was to make another rebuke, but instead bowed his head. "Then I shall submit to its judgement. I certainly no longer trust my own if you are willing to take up a human cause where I am not." He screeched again, and at once both the Wyrms stopped their rampage. Only hesitating a second, Destin barked his own command for his people to stand down, even as one of the archers had been lining up a shot at a Wyrm's breast.

As they watched, the two friends circled, one with his whip and the other with a large wooden club. "The Empire's predations affect more than just humans, my friend", Canopus observed. "Or do you think I would leave Yulia unprotected?"

Gilbert gave a canny smirk. "Of course not. I knew where she was hiding the entire time. I'm not so far gone, Wind Rider, as to take a child hostage."

"The Empire is", Canopus shot back. "It was built upon a foundation of blood and treachery. Whatever nobility their Order might have once held is extinguished. Now, this upstart here claims that there is an alternative to appeasement."

"And so you believe him blindly", the beast tamer observed, looking back at Destin and pulling the whip taut. "The only alternative we have is embracing the Thirteenth, and bringing those you are responsible for along with you. Enough. Fellana has reunited us for one final judgement, and it is time for it to be passed. Have at you!"

Both weapons lashed out. The longer whip took the bird man's club, initially seeming to pull it from his grasp, but the Wind Rider would not be swayed. He stuck one leg out against it, cinching the whip and its holder up into his face before striking with the club. Gilbert dodged, but too late- the weapon made a cracking noise as it impacted the man's jawbone, carefully controlled so as to break neither even while it knocked him on his back.

"Finish it", the governor requested of the ceiling once the bird man drew closer. "I'm just so tired of all this anyway."

The bird man considered. "If that is truly your desire-"

"Enough", both were shocked to hear Destin interrupt from the dais. "This is all we require. You are beaten, Gilbert. There is no need for us to kill you."

Gilbert laughed on his back, and gave a screech close enough to the one that had summoned the Wyrms that several of the rebels readied their weapons again. "What else is there, boy?"

For the bird man did look ready to break his old friend's skull, but the rebel leader held him back with one arm, looking the governor straight in the eye. "Lord Oblion, I beg you listen to me. Your point of view is not so unique as you might think. You believe that our rebellion will only bring down the full wrath of the Empire, which will destroy us and ruin Zenobia further. Am I correct so far?"

"I know so", the governor offered weakly from his position. "All the men of Zenobia together could not defeat the Empire's legions. They are stronger now than they were when they took the capital, gathering their strength to face the unseen threat of Lodis. Mayhap you might find it a satisfying end to die gloriously against overwhelming enemies, but unlike you, _boy_, I have my people to think about."

"You're wrong", he countered sternly. "Completely wrong. I take full responsibility for my people. Though I only command a host of one hundred as opposed to the thousands you must represent here in Sharom, I know what it's like to lose even one."

"Do you not see, my friend?", Canopus seconded, surprising Destin. "Human or no, we have waited twenty-four years for someone with a clear vision for the future to come along, and believe me when I say that this particular human will not be beaten as easily as you think... Particularly, with the two of us at his back. Please. I beg you, do not make Yulie cry again."

Gilbert absorbed all of this in silence, closing his eyes for a full minute. When they opened again, when he blew out a stream of air in grief, there was a new light in them. "I _must_ be mad. Because some of what you say makes sense to me. All of my life I have believed in peace over war... But now it seems the responsibility for my people has been taken out of my hands, whether I surrender or not."

He stood, leaving the whip behind. Despite the amusing irony of doing so right after standing back up, he still managed to make a kneeling bow before Destin look dignified. "Whether the Gods have a profound trick in store or I join you now in destruction, at least we will have died with honour."

Seeing both men smile, Gilbert fixed Destin with an unexpectedly waspish stare. "On one condition, my boy. Should we fail, should our fortunes change for the worst, then we must dispatch our surviving warriors to execute the population of Sharom, nay, all of Zenobia. Embracing the Thirteenth would be preferable to the Empire's retribution."

It was Destin's turn to process a difficult choice. He did so slowly, carefully choosing his words in the knowledge that Gilbert Oblion's life lay upon their integrity. "A very wise man once told me that one requires a bit of madness to establish a rapport with the old Gods. It is how we cease being mere pawns, and become ourselves a part of the game. As to your condition sir, there's no need for such barbarics. If we fail, then a mass exodus to the lands of the east is much less destructive."

"A grim fate either way", Gilbert acknowledged. "Then, for the sake of the people, we dare not fail."

* * *

"Now. Let us try this again, shall we? _Klaatu... Veratu... Juganestru_!"

There was a flash and an explosion of dust, but nothing else tangible. Kapella Radigan had already exhausted much of his repertoire of ancient curses, but he never got tired of seeing the mix of awe and revulsion on the faces of his servants when he came up with some new combination, which must have sounded to them like a rabid beast gargling with apostrophes. Without waiting for either of the fresh-faced twits to clean up the mess, he chuckled threateningly, stroking his proud snow white beard.

"Ha ha. Of course. How could I forget? Idiot, idiot. It's not 'Klaatu Veratu Juganestru', it's-"

"My lord!", one of the servants shouted, for once overcoming his fear of the magician long enough to burst through the door into his private study. The debris of countless attempts at amateur spellcraft littered the room's plethora of bookshelves, but they'd all grown accustomed to it by now. It was simply Kapella's way.

He rounded on the servant with a sweet look on his dark-skinned face that fooled no one. "And what _possible_ reason might you have for intruding on my work here? Use that tongue my boy, lest you should lose it."

The man, in his mid-thirties but younger than his master by far, stood dumbly for a moment before remembering why he was there. "Uh... yes! It's Sage Rashidi! He wishes to speak with you using the scrying circle!"

Eyes shot wide, the lord of castle Goyas hastily dismissed the servants. "Don't think we're done, imbeciles", he shouted a reminder. "We'll resume in an hour. Bring me saltpeter and rosemary... and volume 4 of the Yevon Compendium, I think, yesss..." Needing no excuse to depart, all three vacated the room, leaving Kapella alone to watch as the circle of symbols etched upon the floor in one corner of his study began to glow a healthy sapphire. Only a handful of mages were still capable of that feat, and only one of those would dare contact him this way.

No longer concerned with showing dignity before his servants, he ran for the potions shelf with the energy of a much younger man, extracting a pouch of nondescript powder and flinging a handful of it onto the circle. The powder ignited immediately, producing blue fire which did not spread to the floorboards- indeed just the opposite, for every candle in the study suddenly had its flame sucked away in a single breath- but from it arose a multicoloured image of a familiar yet fearful face.

Dark blue hair which shaded further still as it descended into a healthy black beard and moustache about a deceptively small head. A muscular body in counterpoint, clad in a special orange scale armour not seen since the days before the unification of Zenobia. Underneath that, a blue cape and robes of forest green that with a hood might have almost made the Sage of Light look like an ordinary, run-of-the-mill wizard like the kind the Empire's academies churned out en masse. No wizard with a gram of magic-sense in his head would ever make that mistake, however. Even from here, a fragment of the wild and terrible energy dwelling within Zenobia's oldest and greatest legendary hero made itself known to Kapella Radigan.

He bowed low. "Master Rashidi. _Vr jrrh wr jii cry ejenm_."

"More business than pleasure I'm afraid, _Oetippe_", the sage replied, the dead-serious tone of his words only slightly lessened by the voice-distorting effects of the scrying fire he was using to reach to him all the way from Zeteginea. "But time may wait yet a few minutes more for two old men to catch up on prior matters, hm? What do you think?"

Well versed enough in his master's eccentricities to know what he was truly asking, the magician rose and gestured to the walls outside. "My studies continue as regular, master. I've learned enough to be able to summon low-level demons as needed. They seemed surprisingly eager to provide me with additional spells to attempt."

"Do not follow their advice too closely, _Oetippe_", the Sage warned. "Regardless of who summoned them, demons are the children of the Ogres of legend. They seek only the indiscriminate destruction of other living beings. Any spell they suggest to you might blow up castle Goyas, or worse."

"I'll keep that in mind", his pupil noted, giving one his rare smiles. "All in all, this forest was the perfect place to hone my arts."

"That's good", Rashidi murmured as if it what came next were as trifling a matter as the color of his robes. "_Fihyvi wlrvi euwv ampp fi qiigig vrrq_."

Kapella's jaw dropped. "Master?"

The Sage shook his head, eyes closed. "_Ras_. The Empire isn't quite so foolhardy as to force me to send my students to the invasion force. Yet. The way that pathetic woman's been degrading it may only be a matter of time before she's beyond even my grasp... Ahem. I speak of an enemy from_ within_, Kapella. You know of the rebellion, hm?"

"Rumours", the other magician shrugged, contemptuous. "Another uprising of Zenobian knights who cannot face reality."

"If it were merely that, it would not be such a problem", his master warned him. "They have Warren of Moon's blessing as well."

He nearly dropped the book he'd been experimenting with. "Sage Warren? He's still alive?"

Rashidi did not dwell on the irony but it remained in Kapella's mind nonetheless. Kapella himself had now reached the final stretch of a normal human's lifespan and had not yet attained the power in the Arcane branch of magic needed to extend his years beyond that. Both Warren and Rashidi were far older, yet looked younger. His jealousy over this had been slow, subtle, and irresistible by the time he recognized it. Another motivator in his studies. That was all.

"Apparently", Rashidi concurred neutrally. "Whatever his reasons, he's duped a few weak mercenaries into working with the remaining knights under the pretext of liberating Zenobia. Sharom has fallen in less than a week, and you're most likely their next target."

Kapella inclined his head, thinking outside the walls of Goyas for the first time in many days. The few thousand people who remained behind in the cities of the Pogrom Forest district were little worry, too terrified by the example that had been made twenty-four years back to think of revolting. Their poverty aside, the place mostly took care of itself. Which was good, because Kapella had no time to dirty his hands with the mundane labours of a common governor. Not when there was so very much to learn from the collection of tomes Rashidi and other big names in wizardry had contributed over time to Goyas. "Because my standing forces are the weakest", he deduced calmly. Panic at this news would earn nothing but disdain in the eyes of his master, for Sage Rashidi had lived over a century and had little patience for cowardice.

"Exactly. What they don't realize is that the few soldiers under your command are the least of their worries in the Pogrom Forest." He leaned closer to the circle, the blue fire enlarging his face so that the full range of his cruel smirk could be seen. "You know what to do, don't you, my little _Oetippe_?"

The lesser magi snapped his fingers, comprehending. "Demons. I can summon them for battle as well as knowledge. And the spirits still lingering in the forest proved very susceptible to my spells on my last trip through there. They might get into the woods, master, but they'll never leave."

"I surmised as much", the Sage echoed. "But you mustn't assume that alone will be enough. Not against this foe. Draft your levies, Kapella, squeeze them dry. Station every able-bodied man in defence of the castle while you begin the rituals you will need to perform. With any luck, the rebellion will be ended there and we won't have to share this with the others. They'll call on the Lodis invasion force. You know how much _that_ would set us back."

He nodded, again understanding the subtext. This, like all tasks assigned to those fortunate few the great Rashidi chose to take on as his students, was a test of him. If he proved victorious, if he beheaded this rebellion before it could spread further, then his master would be greatly pleased. If not... then he would no longer be around to experience the penalty for failure. Victory or death was the way of the Empire. "I swear to you, master. Very soon, the tortured spirits of the Pogrom Forest will have new guests in their midst."

"Fortune to you, _Oetippe_.", the Sage of Light finished, his visage now disappearing in the fire. "_Hs pi tusyh_." Kapelle sat and waited until the fire was completely gone, and the scrying circle returned to its normal black hue on the floor. Simple tile and dark ink, nothing more.

He glowered, nearly breaking the book in two. Twenty years of learning and practice and obedience and still nothing had changed between them. Still the eldest of Rashidi's students. Still the weakest in spite of it, and still most ridiculed for that weakness, called by that ridiculous pet name in the Arcane language. Rashidi still thought him nothing but a pretender, weaving insults into what looked like gratuitous praise. The other students, Albeleo and Saradin, were even worse if possible.

Well, that would all stop tonight. Tonight, or tomorrow, or however long they took to arrive here, the second Zenobian revolutionary army would die, and Rashidi of Light would come to understand that his little _Oetippe_ could no longer be bullied. Not with the power that he commanded here.

"Come", he commanded of his servants, assembling for an all-night session of summoning and poring over tomes of forgotten magic. "We have much work to do."

There was _always_ so very much to learn...


	6. Advance

**Advance**

**

* * *

**

**Tarot IV - Emperor**

_The Fool was given options by the Magician, and decided on one with help from the High Priestess. He learned how to develop it, thanks to the Empress. Now he must manage it. How to do this? He approaches a great Emperor seated on a stone throne. The Fool is amazed by the way the Emperor is instantly, eagerly obeyed in every particular, at just how well his Empire is run. Respectfully, he asks the Emperor how it is he does this. And the Emperor answers: "A strong will and a solid foundation. It's all very well," he explains to the Fool, "to be dreamy, creative, instinctual, compassionate, patient; but to control one must be alert, brave and aggressive." _

_Ready now to lead rather than be led, the Fool heads out with new purpose and direction._

_

* * *

_

The victory feast had carried on from dusk to dawn- evidence of how badly so many of the rebellion's more hard-living warriors needed a break- but Destin of house Neb made certain to excuse himself before the heavy drinking started, instead pacing out on the castle walls two floors above. Half a moon's light greeted him, washing over his face almost as though it could purify his heart of its troubles. So preoccupied was he that he did not notice a second figure behind him until he felt cold steel at his throat.

"A little sleepy, kid?", came the bemused voice of Selec Fubuki.

Unconsciously raising his hands away from his sword, the rebel leader sighed. "Point taken. But you're not going to kill me."

"No", the samurai agreed. "Funny as it might be to see everyone's reaction when they found your head in the morning. S'matter? Can't hold your liquor?"

"Wouldn't know. Haven't tried", he grunted from beneath the katana. "But they deserve a reprieve. They all fought well today... but the condition that made us rush this attack still stands." Sensing the other man's distraction with his talking, he threw his head backwards, impacting the face mask hard enough to make the man cry out in pain. Rolling away, he did not draw his blade. The fact that he'd broken Fubuki's pin would be enough to satisfy his deranged need to test the rebel leader at every turn.

"Alright", the samurai acknowledged as he regained his balance, sliding his face mask up and sheathing his blade. "Now I think _I'm _the one who needs some sleep. I should never have fallen for that shit. What condition, pray tell?"

His leader gestured wide to the southwest. "The other districts. Lake Janneia, Pogrom Forest, or Valparin Peaks. Each one with their own advantages and problems. We can strike at any of them now, and the moment we do, the others will entrench if their governors have a gram of sense. We'll have one easy fight and two hard ones after. The only question is which one. Oh, there they are." He referred to the sight on the other side of the aerie, where Gilbert, Canopus, and Yulia were all talking, and walked past his assailant to join them. "No offence."

"I got the word from the priests you'd won", Yulia Walf remarked cheerily once he got close. "You saved my brothers, Destin. Both of them." Faster than either of the other men could react, she darted between them and planted a kiss on the rebel leader's cheek. "Thank you", she whispered into his ear, pulling back- "And you can stop _glaring_, big brother. Your eyes will freeze like that if you do it much more."

Canopus had not actually been glaring at them, but intently studying a mosquito on the floor, and pulled his head away all the same. "Of course, Yulie. Just so long as he realizes you only did that to thank him. Understood, _human_?"

Fully grasping the bird man's role in this peculiar trio, Destin nodded, unconsciously feeling at his cheek all the while. "More than. I'm just glad to see you've let bygones be bygones. That's never easy, as my stalker will attest."

Yulia grunted in disapproval while the other two simply watched the samurai walk off. "Oough! What is his_ problem_, anyway? Is he really that desperate to take over from you?"

"Ah, his bark's worse than his bite", Destin assured her from a position at her winged shoulder. "I promise you, if Fubuki was ever in any real danger of killing me, I'd expel him from this army regardless of his skill. For now, I just have to keep my eyes and ears open. Not that I wasn't doing that already."

"Indeed", Gilbert noted, sitting up on a parapet with his legs dangling down. Tonight the governor looked far less stressed than he had been, and Destin wondered if he'd been drinking to try and patch the bridge between him and the rest of the rebellion. Or for any other reason. "I'm well aware of your difficulties boy, but I assure you if you keep up the performance you displayed these last four days, then none of the other district governors will have a chance against you."

Sidling over to the beast tamer, he smiled. "Thanks for the vote of confidence Gilbert, but it can't hurt to be prepared. I mean what I said- you're the one who taught me what it truly means to take responsibility."

Gilbert chuckled darkly. "Integrity and responsibility, as you will learn in time lad, is a never-ending struggle. Particular in a world with so little of it."

Destin nodded. "Granted. What do you know of the other district governors, anyway?"

Glancing off to the west as if expecting to see one of aforementioned governors waiting there for them, Gilbert took out a small cob pipe to smoke. "Don't bother trying to appeal to any of them like you did me, for one thing. Won't work. They're loyal as domesticated worgen, all of 'em."

With the other hand, he pointed to the southeast where a number of rivers gradually fed into a larger stream. "First. Overseeing the Lake Janneia district is governor Sirius. Just Sirius- no one's ever figured out his family name. Were I to have my say, I'd go for him first. I hear tell he was a bandit leader before the Empire promoted him for certain 'favours'. He's got little military history far as I can tell, and runs his territory much the same way as his band. Cruel, certainly, but without much brain or brawn of his own. Much like Usar, in fact."

Moving around, he pointed over the hills to the west. "In the Pogrom Forest you have Kapella Radigan, the eldest of Sage Rashidi's three students... and also the weakest, rumor has it. Despite that, his magical prowess is said to be formidable and growing, since Rashidi sent him there to train. Again, not a major tactician and he's got weaker standing forces than Sharom. Getting to him shouldn't be a serious problem. Slaying him will be."

Finally, he moved his finger southwest, far into the distance where night and fog shrouded the path further on. "Then there's Valparin Peaks, better known today as 'Deneb's Garden'. It's run by a witch, legendary for both her heartstopping beauty and her wanton capricousness towards anything but her own desires. Deneb Rhodes ravages the countryside there not out of malice, but sheer indifference. I have no idea what experience she has in war, but at least her conventional forces are small."

"Don't forget, those mountains are home to wild Dragons- green and red broods", Canopus chipped in. "You'll need to be careful over there."

"Concern for my health, Wind Rider? You'll ruin your reputation!"

The bird man scoffed, tipping his headband back at the tower Fubuki had fled into. "I have my priorities straight. Unlike some obstinate humans I could mention... From this day forth, my people shall follow your rebellion to its end, whatever it may be."

"Me too!", his sister piped up, ignoring the glare she got in return. "I can help!"

"To deliver messages between divisions or heal the wounded", Destin finished. "That's all."

Yulia slumped. She'd been ready to argue her brother's protests down as she'd done so many times before, but he'd obviously already told Destin of her inexperience in combat. "Awww!"

"Your time will come, Yulie", Canopus assured her, mussing up her white hair with one hand. "For now, it's too dangerous. I can't risk letting- NGH!"

Before the startled eyes of the two humans present, brother and sister collapsed as one, howling like cornered animals. "What happened?", Gilbert asked worriedly. "What's wrong?"

"Don't you _hear_ it?", Yulia asked incredulously once she'd regained control. Over her initial irritation, she made a face. "There's someone... screaming. They're in pain. It's... horrible."

"West", Canopus grunted after standing again, a hurt still lingering in his voice but not as badly affected as his sister. "The Pogrom Forest district."

Looking to Destin, Gilbert could tell he hadn't heard anything either. "The bird-people have a greater hearing range than humans", the beast tamer reasoned. "Are you all right? Can you tell who it is?"

"I'm fine", the Wind Rider replied despite the look of sorrow upon his face. "They're still screaming, but it's fading. I cannot tell for certain who. They sounded human, somehow... but if they were, you would have been able to hear it as well."

"Torture. Well.", Destin surmised. "Looks like our choice has just been made up for us. To Pogrom Forest in the morning, then. Double time. I'll tell the troops."

* * *

A lamp's glow crept into view behind the cloth, and Ara Kestler knew there was no way feigning unconsciousness would work this time. Though rest had certainly done her a great deal of good over the past few days and the denizens of the Roshian Temple had worked to further heal her, there came a certain point where a human could not make themselves go back to sleep. The incoming priest would not be fooled, and she was quite tired of being helpless and blindfolded anyway.

Moving her arms, she was glad to feel them no longer encumbered by bandages. Neither was there the telltale chill of a healing herb's application. Everything in her body seemed to be back the way it was before the rebel dog had struck her down. _Verdamnt. How Freya must be laughing._

Though as the memories came rushing back, the sight of that same person, a blond-haired youth in red and white armour so different from the knights, flashed across her sight and she remembered how the rebel dog had saved her not once, but twice. The second time, she'd been too shocked to reply in any language but the one that always felt the most natural to her tongue. The priest had drawn closer by now, tapping her on the cheek to ensure she wasn't faking. "Finally. You're the last one up. The rest have gone on without you, dear girl."

Confusion showed through her expression, but she dared not ask the man what he meant. She was fairly certain there hadn't been many others of her division that had survived the rebel attack, and Roshian temples typically refused service to Imperial troops. The priest must have mistaken her for one of _them_.

"Damnit", she hissed, playing along. Her Zenobian remained foggy but her normal tongue would be a dead giveaway, as would the white circles on her eyes if the man looked close. "How far?"

The man shrugged. "Last word was they were engaged at castle Parcival, with governor Oblion."

The governor of South Sharom. Which meant- "What about lo- I mean, governor Usar?"

"Dead", the priest made a face, "and good riddance, the man was a disgrace to his rank."

Fighting back the urge to strike him, she heaved a sigh. "I'll have to catch up with the others. Where is my pear? I mean, my gear."

"You're an archer, correct?", the man asked. "I'm afraid we could not recover your bow or arrows. Only your tunic, which you still wear."

"Perfect. I may as well take up residence back home."

The priest smiled widely and patted her black hair. From her detached perspective it was easy to tell how the man considered her to be an amateur soldier, still young and unsure of themselves, assuming he wasn't thinking about taking advantage of her. A typical Zenobian stance towards her gender, and a notion she was quite eager to free him of. _Not yet. Patience. Need a weapon first._

"Here", he offered, reaching up over her head, "I'll remove this."

"No!", she leaned away, seeing him slide back into concern. "No, it's fine. I... I think my eyes are still a bit bleary. Just a little longer, please."

He looked confused but didn't press it, instead helping her down off the bed. "It's a fine thing, you know. What your leader is doing", he said as they crossed the Grand Hall into a separate room. "This may well be our country's last chance to break free of the Empire."

She gave a small nod, careful not to let him look closely at her eyes. "It's all your Order has lived for, isn't it?"

The priest grunted, spread his arms encompass the entire temple. "Girl, our Order exists for the benefit of all mankind. King Gran understood that, let us spread to every corner of Zenobia and beyond into Deneuve and Malano. He himself was a devotee of Roshian, never demanding anything we could not give. While he lived, the wonderful festival of Lughnasa was not something to be kept hidden but celebrated in the streets. There was no wanton vandalism done against the temples, and no tax upon the Order for the crime of not worshipping Freya."

Ara blanched. A hundred nasty retorts on her tongue about the Order but no way to say them without risking her cover. "I just wish there was some way of doing it without bloodshed", she finally came up with, surprised to find she actually meant it. The Zenobians could keep to their archaic myths if it meant so much to them. It was only the occupation which prevented that.

He gave a sad smile. "As do I, child. As do I. The Order despises warfare, and were there any other way we would have taken it long ago. But the convocation on Avalon is proof enough that the Empire is past listening to reason- the battle there goes ill indeed. Our matriarch, Grand Monk Forris, is a hunted woman. It takes every Paladin we have just to keep her safe." Coming up to a larger hall now, she could make out several others already seated at a long dining table. "Wait here. You've not eaten in a day."

Ara waited for him to return, facing the wall while slipping off the blindfold over her eyes. The torchlight seemed all too bright without the gauze protecting them, and she was immediately glad she had not waited until going outside to do this. Further up the table, another priest was telling his friends the amusing tale of how Sister Yenda had volunteered her people for the rebellion, stubborn enough to override every stuttering protest Lans Hamilton had made. They truly did seem like harmless folk, only concerned with helping the needy and spreading their teachings elsewhere, but she somehow doubted they'd be so civil once they realized a Highlander was in their midst. The Order of Roshian had already shown themselves to be allies of the damnable rebels, with every temple from here to Malano aiding them. If and when they were defeated, the Empire would no doubt exact a heavy toll from them, if they permitted their continued existence at all.

Throwing off a satisfied look, she turned back to the wall. Whatever she saw here didn't change the bedrock of what was right and wrong. And the rebels, she knew, were in the wrong.

"Ah", her old nursemaid called from the door, coming in and setting the table. "I see your eyes have recovered. I'm afraid we don't have much in the way of selection, but with the way the cities here are sharing the wealth, you can have all the fish you want."

"Thank you", Ara whispered, eyes shut as she recalled her training. _Show no hesitation. Regret is a weakness. _She would not tense up. "You're very kind."

"It's no worry", the priest said cheerily. "It's the least we can do for an ally of sir Destin."

"How of nice of you", she replied. Cursed inside. No matter how she tried, the old fear that had slowed her in the previous battle was now draining all emotion from her words. "Breakfast for an ally of the rebellion. I guess I'd better take my leave then."

To her great relief, the training was still there, as unshakable and natural as it had when first drilled in. Too fast for any priest to react or comment on her odd choice of words, she spun around, grabbing the fork the priest had set before jamming it into his eye until it stuck. Ignoring his cry, she slid back, bringing the butter knife with her. Not exactly a formidable weapon, but it could certainly do some damage if used properly. Judging by the way the rest of the hall's occupants glared at the two in fear, they knew that as well.

"Don't move!", she shouted. This was intended for both the frightened priests and the man she'd stabbed, who refused to stop thrashing and screaming until the fork dropped to the carpet. "Anyone tries anything before I'm out of sight of this temple, I _will _cut his throat. Understood?"

The others seemed to get it, and her hostage did not even dare nod his head in the affirmative with the blade so close. Finding his body partly limp from blood loss, Ara lifted him by the collar and backed up towards the door. Her living shield held until she'd gotten down the temple steps, at which point she dropped him and sprinted for the woods until the priests' howls were gone.

* * *

Emily Cashel's initial thoughts upon seeing the Pogrom Forest were far from flattering. The actual wooded portion of the district began just past the rebel's initial supply hub where they'd all caught breakfast, but from there spread out for baums in all directions from shore to mountain. The endless-seeming line of fir trees might have been more intimidating yet were it not for proportionally large breaches in the greenery- spreads of hundreds of trees in various stages of recovery from the historical fires of long ago. Some were stumps, some were blackened trunks, and some yet retained enough life in them to struggle onwards in an effort to one day regain their greenery, but all had suffered equally in the same dreadful day twenty four years past.

"Ahh. There it is", Blaine Diwrnach was saying as they marched, more for her benefit than any other member of his unit. "50 baums, end to end, both ways. Over a million trees by estimates, and a quarter of that burned to the ground. Yet for all that wood, there are lots of lumberjacks you couldn't _pay_ to work here."

"So it is true", she gaped in wonder, her skin tingling in fright. "Pogrom Forest is haunted!"

Blaine's doll covered its brown button eyes in mock fear without so much as a touch from its owner. "The most haunted forest in the world, miss Prudence. To make it that way required tens of thousands of violent deaths in the same place, none of their souls ever recovered by priests or clerics." He did not seen at all disturbed by the concept Emily was struggling to wrap her mind around. Much like her apprenticeship to this hired murderer, it felt like too much to digest all at once.

"Zenobian deaths", Lans cut in behind them, and suddenly Blaine was careful to not let him get too close a look at Emily's face. "Virtually every servant at the capital who remained after the execution of the royal family fled here, seeking to avoid the Empire's wrath in these endless woods."

"However...", his gaze hardened beneath his visor, staring at a fallen trunk of black ash as though it was the corpse of an innocent. "The Zeteginean _kree-ath_ would not relent. Preparing oil and brands, they set the forest ablaze from all four directions, North, South, East, and West, roasting them alive. The greenery acted like a canopy, trapping the fires' heat within. Those who did not burn to death were subjected to a similar fate the moment they left the safety of the trees, for twenty and six Imperial divisions awaited them. T'was the most infamous massacre in a long history of infamous massacres perpetuated by the Empire."

"And the spirits there...", Emily cut her deduction short- she had nearly forgotten her disguise, a set of small hides, bow, and a tunic from a dead Imperial archer. A cleric's knowledge of soul transmigration would tip off even the fanatic knight captain of her true colours.

"The spirits of the dead couldn't leave here", Blaine covered for her, nodding to his fellow chief. "Their bodies were left to rot for weeks before anyone could get past the blockade. As a result, wandering too far in here gets you an up-close look at a vengeful ghost, more often than not. And a little birdie told our boss that they've gotten even more to howl about recently." Taking the doll from his belt to look at it, the magi flashed a brave grin. "Heh. This just keeps gettin' better and better."

"I'm glad you find all this so amusing, Diwrnach", Lans scowled at his apparent ease towards the suffering. "This is not a game."

Floating on air, Blaine's doll waved to him, and the doll magi gave back a knowing smirk. "Sure it is, Lancy. You keep score by body count."

The knight scowled. "Mayhap sir Destin will send _you_ in first. T'would not be a great loss."

"Friendly as ever", Emily found the breath to quip once the knight had marched on out of earshot. "What's his problem?"

"He fights for 'honour' and I don't", her new mentor surmised, eyes never leaving the receding metal figure. "In his mind, that makes Fubuki and I less than dragon shit. To hell with him- last time I checked you can't eat honour."

She blinked at that simple guideline. Practical, blunt, and oriented towards one's own survival above all else. Everything the Order of Roshian was not. Unable to shake her interest, she checked behind them for other spies. "What then, master Diwrnach? Goth? It's just means to an end, isn't it?"

Blaine jingled the sack that contained his latest pay merrily. "Heh. Smart girl. There _is_ something more."

"...That's all?"

"That's all."

"And I'll have to ask you again if I want more information."

"That's right. But not now Prudence, the boss is watching." Indeed, Destin and his division were right up ahead at a large space in the trees which might serve as an 'entrance' to the forest just past a Roshian temple. The rest of the rebel army had been ordered into lines before them, awaiting marching orders concerning the stifling sea of trees ahead.

"I'm told the Imperials' standing forces here are minimal", their leader was announcing to the assembled troops. "But that is no reason to underestimate our foes, particular since they know the terrain here better than we, and will no doubt use it to our advantage. Henceforth, we shall divide into seperate groups to travel through these woods more smoothly, each with different objectives."

Ignoring scattered mutters, he gestured to the divisions to his left. "Liat and Bors' divisions will head north. There's rumour afoot that a handful of survivors from the massacre twenty-four years ago escaped and founded a town of their own, hidden from Kapella's eyes. They could be a great help to us. Scour the north shore until you reach the river, then follow it south to the Roshian temple at its mouth."

Turning around, he indicated the right-side divisions. "Warren and Lans' divisions will head south around the lake. The majority of the civilian settlements in this region are there, but fall back if it looks like too much for you to handle. Sir Gilbert and sir Canopus' divisions will be our air support and first line of reconnaissance, watching your backs in case Kapella tries anything fancy."

"Finally, the middle group. Blaine's division and mine will be heading straight through the middle to secure the Roshian temple at the river. With luck we'll all meet up there before mounting our assault on castle Goyas. Understood? Yes? No? I hope so because I'm not repeating all of that."

Beside her, Blaine stifled a laugh. "I like this kid", he admitted. "Shame he's so green. Guess we'd better get going."

So they did. Eight divisions and eight chiefs marshaled their troops and half of those sent their forces into the brief breach in the endless trees, into the endless forested darkness where Death held sway.

Into Pogrom Forest.

* * *

An hour later, the rebel leader understood why no spirit could escape this place. It lay covered in an impenetrable layer of greenery that blotted out the sun, leaving the rebels in near-perfect darkness even as it shut out the morning's rain, still audible but scarcely a drop getting to them. Black on black on every finger and toe and unable to use torches, they linked arms and travelled as an improvised chain. However awkward, they were at least making progress until a tortured wail made them realize they were no longer alone.

Separating from Tally's grip, Destin searched and found a spot where a handful of rays shone through. "We know you are here!", he called to the shadowed wilderness. "Where are you? Let us help you!"

His answer was not words, but visuals. Without warning a sphere of billowing mist gathered before the two divisions, resolving itself into a pair of inhumanly long, closed, eyes and a grin which stretched the length of the being's face even as something continued its eerie wailing.

"Stang! A ghost!", he heard Tally call out. "Watch out! If they touch you..."

It was all he needed to hear. Destin leaped back with his sword drawn, prepared to defend himself if need be. As if in mocking counterpoint, more balls of white snapped into being all around the rebel force, prompting scared exclamations from several. "Please. If you're not working with Kapella, we don't have to fight you."

The first ghost seemed to consider a moment before stretching its arm out for him, moaning Destin had made the foolish assumption that their arms would be human length, and the six-foot appendage pierced him.

It was not a blade and left no mark but a coat of chilled slime where it had passed through his body, but the initial surge of absolute cold made him cry out regardless. Tally lunged forward with his blade in return, but the creature simply dissolved into white mist as he struck before reforming on the other side, its incessant wailing a discerning contrast with the way its mouth appeared to be laughing at the country-born knight's efforts. Likewise, all across the formation other rebels were encountering similar problems; the unblockable chill of the ghosts' touch, and their immunity to any form of attack. Hearing Blaine's curses, Destin knew the Doll Magi's spells were having no effect as well. The ghosts had no part of them left that would burn from acid clouds. No lives left to lose that weren't already lost twenty four years ago.

"Retreat!", he called to his men. "We can't kill these things! They're already dead! Take your neighbour's hand and run!"

The spooks did appear to give chase but lacked mobility. One mad rush later, they lay safely beyond the haunted clearing with only the wails to remind them of their encounter.

"That was depressing", one of the soldiers remarked once he'd caught his breath. Destin thought it was the same one who'd mouthed off to Gilbert. "How are we supposed to beat something like that?"

"You don't", Tally remarked once they'd found each other. "Sorry I didn't mention this before now, but we were in a hurry, boss."

Again shrouded in darkness, Destin could only turn his head to where the voice was coming from. "Go on."

"As you've noticed", the young knight went on, "ghosts and other undead can't be harmed by most things since they're already dead. However, when I was just a boy we had one in our attic. Ma and pa called for a cleric from the nearest Roshian temple to banish it."

His jaw dropped, though no one could see. "You mean, holy magic can hurt them?"

"Yes. 'Cause y'see, undead are the exact opposite of a living being. What would heal living beings destroys 'em. Permanently, so their tormented spirits may finally know rest."

Remembering the maddened screams Yulia and Canopus had related to him, the rebel leader sighed. "Then all of us here are useless against them. Sara? Are you up to this?"

"Always, m'lord", a tough voice answered behind him. Their divisions' single cleric, a tomboyish member of her Order, Sara Ellgwyr had already distinguished herself not only by healing many wounded comrades in every battle, but by striking one enemy wizard hard in the gut with her ankh to stop him from finishing a spell. "I haven't attempted to banish the undead before, but I shall try my best."

"Which brings us to the other problem", Destin's second continued. "I lost track of the sun when we ran. I can't even tell how many are left... Hey! Everyone who's still here say 'aye'!"

He heard a chorus of at least thirty ayes, but it would be impossible to tell if they'd left a handful behind. _If anyone wanted to desert, now would be the perfect time; can't see a damned thing._

"And your second problem _isn't _one, boss", came Blaine's voice from somewhere to his left. Destin thought he could make out a shock of gold-blond. "Around the time we first entered this forest I sensed a powerful magical force far to the west of us, probably a ley line. All we have to do is follow it until we reach the river. Follow me."

Destin took the man's hand and stopped. There were too few footfalls to account for thirty troops reforming their 'chain'. The men were all waiting. Waiting for him to say it was okay. Certainly, some had reasons not to trust a mercenary leader who would throw their lives away like chicken bones after the feast at Parcival... but they were waiting on _him._ It was a little hard to take in, and this close up he could see the Doll Magi's face contorting in some mixture of amusement and annoyance. "Any time now."

"... Right. Follow him. All of you. Sara, stick close to the front of the line. Something tells me we've only scratched the surface of this."

* * *

The hidden village had not been so subtle as Liat might have guessed. A simple affair of wood and thatch housing along a central road, the place looked like it had been kept separate from a century of structural innovations for there was nary a sign of stone or concrete. Yet any dream that his division had somehow stumbled into some strange savage land hidden in the forest was dashed when Liat's one eye made out the name on the large stump marking the entryway- Ala Goyas. 'New Goyas' in easterling talk. This was the place, all right.

Of course, the folk of this refuge did not simply wait for the rebel troops to walk up to their doorstep. A wind chime had been sounded before Bors' men had even cleared the forest, and when they arrived ten ill-clothed, ill-fed looking men were waiting with weapons ranging from axes to ploughshares. "You not welcome here", their leader commanded in a stilted but impeccably hostile tone. "You go back. Now."

A hopeless gesture against either of the divisions, but Liat had spent enough time in isolated, rural towns such as the one he'd grown up in to know that such a place might have more defence than was apparent. He threw up his hands, keeping them well away from his katana. "Easy, friend. We're not Imperials. Not bandits either. You folks ever heard of the Zenobian Revolutionary Army? The second one, that is."

Thankfully he did see recognition in the eyes of several of the unshaven protectors even if the leader kept his weapon raised. "How do we know?", he demanded. "We see men running all over, calling themselves 'rebels'. Not very friendly, them. No." Matter-of-factly, he pointed Liat over to a spot where someone had erected an arch of three logs, two on the side and one on top. Four bodies dangled from the top in various stages of decay.

Across from them, Bors made a face. "Nasty. Still, 's no surprise that the local scum migh' try and pull tha'. Here's how ye know we're the real deal." Nodding to his men, he brought up the blue cloth on his cuff, dimmed and faded by rain but still recognizable. "Mebbe ye might ge' two or three stolen for use in a 'false flag', but thirty? Nae."

The guard leader studied Gran's lion symbol calmly, not wishing to betray his reaction. "You are rebels", he said at last. "Why have you come here? We barely hold out these days. No warriors to spare for you. No."

Liat shrugged. "Not what he had in mind, good sir. We simply sought to make contact... What do you mean by 'these days'?"

Giving his own people leave to go about their business, the guard leader pointed with his spear towards the treeline. "Bad juju at work in the forests these days. Kapella. Weaved a spell. Disturbed the dead. Bad."

"Ye... don't say", Bors noted, following the spear with a feeling of dread. "Well, we're here ta stop tha'. We'll not be takin' your warriors, but anything else ye've got to help against ol' Kappy would be nice."

To the samurai's surprise, the man smiled beneath his bushlike beard. "We have one thing. Yes. Come." Falling into step with the strange native, both chiefs signaled their men to stand down as well, for the hike through Pogrom Forest had been tiring if not eventful. Rain had struck them harder and harder as the trees thinned out from a lightless canopy, only fading away into a drizzle in the last hour or so. Whether or not Alagoyas had anything for them, a rest was welcome.

"You're not far off there, you know", Liat interjected to his fellow chief as they passed through the heart of the town. "Won't happen until the Empire actually gets off its duff, but when they do a 'false flag' isn't out of the question. Especially since all our funding is donations. An Imperial-style slaughter in rebel colours could ruin you."

"Aye, that it could", Bors noted worriedly, stroking his beard. "Best to be creatin' some other form of identification before then, right enough. We'll speak with Destin about it when this is done. Enjoyin' your pay, lad?"

"Quite", he replied flatly. "Enjoying your air, sir?"

The larger man chuckled, defusing whatever hostility they'd built. "I'm not Lans. Jus' 'cause someone's earnin' a living off this rebellion doesn't mean they're bad. Big baby jus' has to remember that not everyone's bound by honour as we."

"Glad to hear it. I, for one, find a lifetime of servitude to a dead old man more than a little revolting." The cycloptic easterling stopped, pensive. "That's why Fubuki and the rest of us were expelled from our own Order, you know. When a samurai finds a _daimyo_ he deems honest and worthy of his services, he is to swear allegiance to that man forever. Failure to protect the _daimyo_ requires ritual suicide, so that you may join your master in death. Only if he dies of natural causes are you freed from it, as dictated by the seven reigning _shogun_- the seven most skilled and revered samurai in all the world. And before you ask, no. None of them will ever fight for your cause."

"Then", Bors replied. "We're not so different, 'cept we don't have Order leaders. Only the code, set 'n stone on Avalon. A knight is sworn to valour, to serve the lord of his land, and t' fight for those who can't defend themselves. 'Course, lots of folk who wear the armour are fast to forget tha'."

"Enough talk", the Alagoyas guard cut in on their talk. "Here is the weapon."

Both men stared. Aside from the milk-white hue of the ball and lengthy pommel it looked like a normal hand mace. Testing the weight with his free hand, Liat was puzzled. "_This_ is your special weapon?"

"Special. Yes. Enchanted by Grand Monk Forris long ago. Can release tormented souls. Yes."

The two digested that slowly, wondering for a moment if the long isolation had driven the guard all the way around the bend. "This thing can kill undead? Permanently?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "Not kill. Already dead. Release. Take it."

"Either way", Bors surmised, beaming at the mystic mace. "I get the sense this thing's gonna be very, very useful."

* * *

Kapella Radigan might have been a mighty magi, but he was no strategist. The battle unfolding far beneath the beating wings of Canopus Walf's flying unit was proof enough of that. This close up, he and his fellow hawks could just make out the signs of a scattered retreat along the mountain range that was Pogrom Forest's southern border. Soldiers and knights and wizard acolytes running for their lives after the lack of coordination or any real leadership had doomed their one attempt at a battle line outside the secluded woodsman's city of Rhodina.

As ever, Lans Hamilton showed no mercy and neither did those under his command, whom he was proving adept at whipping into a frenzy. New blood was shed by sword and new meat fell into the eager jaws of Ruclomb and Pheles. Doubtless whoever had been put in charge of the cities here was screaming to Kapella for reinforcements. More humans senselessly butchering each other. Some things never changed.

Turning from the spectacle below, Canopus regarded his comrades flying dozens of meters off to either side. No doubt they were feeling much the same way as he- relief at finally being able to take action against their enemies again, and overjoyed to see their leader shake off his depression and take flight... yet remembered scorn for the most common sight of warfare all too quickly. Seldom were these battles well-balanced, organized affairs like at Sharom where either side had the possibility of victory waiting over the horizon. The only consolation here was that their side was the likely victor, which seemed to only make the Imperial deaths down below even more futile somehow.

There was Arbalow, perhaps the most strident pursuer of action against the Empire beside Yulie. He was still young by the standards of the Winged Ones, but had already attained the kills of a human veteran in his short time on the field. Showy and boastful in his power dives, he nonetheless had a killer instinct to compensate. Further left of him the red-haired twins Jurai and Jumai glided, looking identical from this distance. In stark contrast to Yulie, Jurai faced the world with a stern countenance. Her brother played the lighter half of the duo. The most human-friendly as well, but still made clear his desire to avoid war and focus on tracking down any traces of the civilization that had spawned them, which he always claimed to be on the verge of.

Lastly came their voracious pet griffin, Halcygos, and Moraine, the black-haired bird man who spent more time learning to tame their ilk than sharpening his weapon, preferring to let the others fight it out until he was needed. If ever the Wind Rider were incapacitated or killed, it was Moraine who would lead them. For all his reluctance, the elderly hawk clanner was a true terror when angered.

The hawk clanner to his far right...

The hawk to his far right was not a part of his group. Now there were two of them, gliding about quickly but nervously. The Wind Rider's practised eyes noticed red cloth bands on both their arms.

For a moment he forgot to even flap, so lost to rage was he. Quickly regaining velocity and height, he took another pass just to be sure. Yes. These were sent here to try and help the Empire's forces down below. Three of them, and one carrying a hooded wizard upon his shoulders. _How dare they... betraying our people..!_

Canopus signalled Arbalow, the closest one to him. Hopefully the others would see what was going on- there was no time for further delay. These betrayers of the Winged Ones had to taste justice for their impudence. And Canopus Walf of the hawk clan promised they would regret their decision ten times over before he was through.

Giving an animalistic screech to put Halcygos to shame, he dove for the lead hawk man with Jurai and Arbalow in his wake.

* * *

"_Memento mori.."_

Destin's ears pounded. As welcome as some kind of reprieve for Pogrom Forest's endless darkness was, the chanting that Blaine's 'ley line' was emitting had draped their travels in a most unwholesome vibe. He did not need to see the faces of his men to know they were having second thoughts about following the doll magi. For that matter, so was he.

"_Retaw seibab gnignis ni a ylil.."_

"Quiet", he whispered to the men over the growing din. Whatever it was, he'd lay down Goth it was one of Kapella's people. Yet for the moment they sounded occupied. Easy prey, or at least he hoped so.

"_Eulb redwop syeknom gniyalp ni.."_

"Draw swords."

_"Ekat siht, ekat taht gnirb meht nwod ot ezis.."_

"Now!"

The first wave of ten burst upon the clearing with vigor, charging in ready to take down whatever awaited them, and only stopping when it was apparent that no one had been. By some trick of sorcery, only an azure light lay before them, nestled at the foot of a short cliff of overhanging moss.

Then, even as premonition made Destin's hands cold and his breath short, a new voice issued from atop the cliff: "_March to the Black Queen_."

The rebels stared, and in that stare lost their chance to escape. Destin counted at least seven hooded wizards with staffs emerging from the trees on either side, but could not be certain with the sight of Kapella Radigan dominating their collective mind's eyes. As described by frightened peasantfolk, the old magi was clad in faded red robes without a hood, revealing the contrast on his head between dark skin and a hair and daggerlike beard as white as snow. While physically older than Warren or many of the other magicians Destin had met in life, Kapella also carried with him a sense of dignity and power as well as age surpassing many of the trees about his person. None of the acolytes would dare disobey his commands, on penalty of death. Or worse.

"You would be that 'destiny's child', then", the magi chuckled condescendingly from his perch. "The new rebel leader said to be blessed by the Gods. As of yet, I'm unimpressed."

Swallowing down curses at their situation, he forced his head up to stare Rashidi's pupil in the eye. As un-military as he was, even Kapella subscribed to the notion that the commanders of opposing armies were required to exchange words- and more often than not, scathing insults- before officially starting to fight. That custom did seem a bit silly to Destin at first, but it had also provided opportunity to try and reason with more sensible enemy commanders. If not for that, they might never have learned about Yulia, never persuaded Canopus to join them.

_Besides_, he mused uneasily, _this is _not_ a typical battle. _Scattered and unable to form battle lines in the twisting terrain of the dark forest, the rebels were hardly in a position to strike first. The only consolation was that most wizards he'd seen were useless in up-close combat, easily slain by swords and pikes once you got past their magic. "This is a change", he managed to retort with appropriate gusto. "Normally the local Imperial shepherd doesn't leave their castle until we kick them out."

Amused, Kapella shrugged. "I am far beyond a simple district governor, child. You are speaking to one of the three pupils of the great Sage of Light, Rashidi! Even the smallest fraction of his power will be enough to break you."

"Indeed. We'd be in real trouble if you had that."

As he'd hoped, the riposte made several of his men- including Blaine- laugh, loosening them up to kill. "Fo-foolish child!", Kapella sputtered angrily. "You might have some skill in sticking blades into mortals 'till they bleed, but you will soon learn that it is _magic_, the ways of the old Gods, that truly rules this world! _Tup meht ni eht rallec htiw eht __**ythguan syob**__!"_

The bizarre words sounded similar to the incantations which had drawn them here, but this time it was no mere lure. Clouds of solid black materialized from glowing spots on the forest floor, leaving behind a collection of green-skinned reptilian creatures interspersed with the acolytes, a full head taller than they and bearing scythes which were even longer. They cackled and shrieked and clicked their bat wings with unholy pleasure at the thirty-something mortals trapped between the two groups, and were the first to charge, leaving the acolytes to begin focusing spells.

In mere moments, the grove erupted into chaos. Archers loosed arrows against enemy wizards while the demons duelled with soldiers and knights. Thankfully Sara and Blaine had not been caught flat-footed by the ambush, quickly rushing to heal scores of injured men and loose a cloud of acid against the wizards respectively.

Nor were their leaders idle. Destin saw Kapella mustering another incantation of dozens of words he would be unable to pronounce with multiple tries, and moved his own blade between him and his troops, ready to cleave it in two just as he had against Warren Moon's fireball more than a week ago. It was indeed fire which the magi unleashed, but a billowing curtain of flames far too wide to disperse, divided at his sword and flowing onward like a forked river to burn both him and several rebels who had been standing too close.

He'd been burned many times of course, but never by a wall of concentrated fire twice his height, scalding and boiling all portions equally all across his armour in a way that made him dig his teeth into his lips to stop from crying out. Thankfully, the blast seemed to take a fair bit out of its user as well- Kapella fell to one knee for a split second, breaking open the magical tome he'd kept in his hands to begin chanting a second spell.

He would not get that chance if Destin could help it. The rebel leader lunged, leaping up onto the cliff and slashing down... into a demon's tough flesh. Swiftly killing the creature with a second overhead blow, he faced Kapella.

"A skilled child", the old magi noted with a smirk. "But a child nonetheless. _Elttil reggin ragus-_"

A near-miss arrow cut him off, and the mage retreated behind another demon servant. "_Elttil reggin ragus neht a bur-"_

Falling back before a flurry of slashes by the second demon, Destin saw Tally charging, too far away to lip-read and too loud a battle to warn him. For one bright moment it looked as though he had timed his frenzied slash at Kapella well enough to interrupt him, but the mage simply leaned back, grabbing the swinging blade in one hand and immolating it with an equally quick verse. Cursing, his second-in-command dropped the blade and raised his shield... too late.

"-a-bur-_a-bud-a-ybab-lio_." Kapella finished, unleashing a new element that was familiar enough to all men to jar old memories even while the possibility of a _mortal_ controlling such a force inspired dread and terror- streaks of lightning pierced the gloom, forking across from the mage's outstretched hands onto Tally's sea-blue armour.

Destin knew from small talk that Tally had forged that suit himself, across many late nights after tending his father's crops and sheep, but the personal attachment did not seem to make any difference to the power being poured into the plated steel now. Over a desperate scream Destin was not sure he or Tally had shouted, the man's armour burst out from the inside, spiderwebbed with black cracks as he fell to the ground without a word. Blood stained the dirt shortly after,

If not for the pressing need to keep his blade warding off the demon's scythe, Destin might have collapsed as well. Tally had been a friend and a confidant; a man who shared in Destin's relative newness to the ways of war while also holding a command level and earnestness that made it possible for them to talk on equal footing. He'd joined to protect his parent's farm in Sharom, and never once strayed from his straightforward, if simple, stance towards the Empire and life in general. "Bastard!"

Stepping over the body, Kapella fixed him with a look uncomfortably close to Warren's disdain as he slew the second demon. "What did you expect, child? Sweets and flowers? You have a lot to learn. Unfortunately, class is suspended for now." He inclined his head to indicate the rest of the battle. The rebels had fared better against the acolytes and the demons they'd summoned than either leader would have guessed- seven demons lay dead before them with only a handful of soldiers mixed in. Several surviving acolytes had banded together to summon a ghost, but Sara had proven her skill once again and banished that tormented soul before he or she could become inconvenient. At Kapella's word, the surviving acolytes ran and their master faded into a cloud of chuckling blue mist. "Enjoy your prison, child."

Though focused on helping the injured, Destin could not help noticing the look on Blaine Diwrnach's face as he helped a frightened archer back to her feet. "Stang. It's gone, boss", he noted in anger not necessarily towards Destin, but Kapella and himself. "It was all just a lure to get us here. I have no damned clue where we are now. Should've known it was a trap. I'm... sorry."

He hadn't expected an apology from a mercenary leader. Fubuki never apologized for anything. "It's okay. We'll cope."

A scream from a badly-burned knight indicated just how optimistic that statement was. "How? We have no idea how to get to the Roshian Temple. This forest goes on forever and some of these folks won't last the day without healing!"

"We'll live", he insisted, dashing off a quick prayer to whatever Gods there were that the temple was close by. "We'll_ all _live."

* * *

Night fell upon the Pogrom Forest, and Liat frowned at the sight of the Roshian temple at the mouth of the river. "Huh. No Destin. No _shai-raa_. No Blaine?"

The empty air about the steps leading into it gave no sign, but he was first of his division to spot a pair of Wyrms gliding low into a stop in front of him, with their former enemy Gilbert and another soldier who had apprenticed himself to the beast tamer riding on their backs. "No sign of them", Gilbert said when they'd dismounted. "Damned trees obscure most of the forest even in the day. All we know is they should have been here by now."

"We can speak with Warren!", Bors offered, at once panicked at the idea that anything might have happened to their leader. "If Blaine's still kickin' we can communicate!"

"No we can't", Gilbert countered, sadly studying the grass. "Blaine studied the Karma branch of magic, Warren and his acolytes studied the Arcane and Tarot. They don't mix. Besides, it wouldn't surprise me if Kapella's weaved some kind of spell to disrupt Arcane-based communications in the forest. It would fit the way he'd been using it."

"So what, then?", Liat grunted in displeasure. "We just give up? Wait here for Kapella to attack us while Destin's people starve to death?"

"Warren will decide", Gilbert claimed, calming him down with a pat on the cheek. "If our leader has truly been lost to the forest... Then destiny may have been irrevocably shifted in the Empire's favour. We'll give him until daybreak. After that..." he looked away, not willing to contemplate the likely result. "After that, it shall be up to the Sage."

* * *

As he marched, Destin felt frustration alter his steps and despair churn in his stomach where food should have been. All night he could feel the greatest threat to the rebellion's continued survival gradually creeping into his ranks, but could do precious little to stop it.

Certainly he'd seen the signs. The offhand, fatalistic comment about the division's chances of getting out of Pogrom Forest alive. The increasing desperation with which rations and water skins were divided, particularly when an active pond had been located and forbidden just as quickly- the general rule in his books said only running water would be safe to drink raw, and by all accounts no part of the forest had been left untainted by sinister Arcane magic and vengeful spirits. The way the division lieutenants, Fubuki included, continued to study him for some sign that he knew which way they were going. Thankfully, the sardonic warrior had not yet called him on it, but it was only a matter of time until someone else did.

Tally had died before they had even made ready to leave the grove, and several of the other soldiers had followed suit from their injuries after despite Sara's best efforts. Even the broguish cleric from Janneia seemed depressed now, weighed down by her failures and desperate for some sign that their leader knew what he was doing.

Such a pity, then, that he _didn't_. The Pogrom Forest was even more difficult to navigate at night, and whatever sense of direction he tried to develop was dashed by the sporadic attacks of enemy wizards, demons, living skeletons, ghosts, or some mix thereof. Whether through chance or design Kapella was slowly wearing down the two rebel divisions, never giving them a chance to rest for too long before another enemy would strike from the darkness. Though it was impossible to keep proper track of time in this place, he estimated it had been roughly eight hours since the ambush. His group had been ground down to thirteen active members not tasked with carrying the wounded, and he knew ten paces over Blaine's division was in worse shape still. Like Fubuki, Blaine had said little, simply contributing his acid clouds to killing enemies and not much else. Destin knew the blond doll magi continued to blame himself for the trap, and a part of him now wished to concur. If they'd simply stuck in one direction, they'd have reached a lake or the sea by now.

Finally, with legs crying for rest and arms sagging, he saw pale white lights gathering in the gloom ahead. He knew those lights. Several curses rang out behind him, and he saw Sara jog up beside him even as the now-common wailing of ghosts began to assault their weary ears. "I've got 'em, sir", she insisted. Trying to hide the way her voice, so much like Bors' at full strength, was trembling. "I'll banish 'em back to otherworld."

_And then what? Continue our trek through the neverending woods until we all simply collapse? Or worse yet, fragment and die separately?_

_What then?_

Seeing two balls of mist condense into the familiar apparitions, he raised his vambrace to hold Sara back. "A moment, cleric. I wish to try a different tack this time." He might have elaborated further, but tiredness made his voice dull and inflection-less. Without questioning him, the girl nodded in fright and stepped back.

Now he stood alone before two moaning, groaning ghosts, either one capable of 'sliming' him with the chilling muck that always resulted from their touch. "I know you are frightened", he began carefully, refusing to draw his weapon. "You have been trapped here for decades, have you not? Burned to death by Imperial dogs, your souls never able to reach the other side, trapped forever in limbo."

The two spectres waited, as if confused for a moment before one of them slowly stuck an appendage into Destin's chest. The rebel leader cried out in pain, yet still motioned his men back with both hands. "Misery!", he managed to grate out over the terrible chill. "Misery loves company! But this is not the answer- AARGH!"

It only then occurred to him that he might have been wrong. Perhaps these former humans were so far gone from the decent folk they'd once been that they no longer cared what noises issued from a mortals' mouth. Only that they share their immortal pain with as many others as possible, for it was the only thing which relieved it. They would continue to drain his energy, chill his body past subzero temperatures until his own soul departed from it, became a ghost like them. Already he could feel his senses dimming, shutting down...

And so what? It would be a far more pleasant way to go than starving to death. Caught between impossible pain and fleeting life, he raised one arm to embrace the thirteenth God.

He was not wholly disappointed when the chill abruptly stopped. Though coated in slime and bearing residual chill that could kill small animals, both the wayward spirits had withdrawn their appendages, and were now regarding him curiously, no longer moaning in misery.

"I-I-I want to help you", he said while his teeth chattered. "P-p-please. I can destroy the one who is responsible for doing this to you. B-b-but I cannot do it alone. We need your help. Remember who you were! Zenobians! Proud Zenobians who would lay down their lives for their fellow countryman!"

Neither moved. One stretched the gaping black holes that served as its eyes wider still, looking hard at the man who had embraced them like family before speaking in the same voice they'd been wailing in before. "Frieeeend?"

"Yes! Yes!", he gasped from his knees, too tired to feel gratitude. "We are your friends! We seek to right the wrongs committed here!"

"Soooorcerer", the other echoed, its voice still sounding irrevocably sinister in nature, like the voice of a legion of demons. "Kill?"

"Yes. That's right. We seek to end the life of the sorcerer who used his magic to trap you here. Did you see us, friends? Did you see us fighting for our lives against him?"

"Kill", the first ghost to speak confirmed after a long moment of... what? Consideration? "Revenge."

"We will kill him", Destin promised, knowing full well that he was in no position to refuse any demand they made of him. "But we are currently lost in your prison. Kapella meant to trap us here until our souls, too, become like yours. We do not want that. We need to be able to act in the living world still. But this is your woods. Surely, you know the way to civilization?"

"Caaaaastle", the second murmured, now sounding truly interested, or at least as interested as a ghost could be in the realm of mortals. "Kill."

"That's our destination", he agreed. But there are others we sought to meet up with who will help us kill the sorcerer."

"Temple. Find. Kill. Revenge."

He stopped, for once considering the crude communications these two offered. The priests of Roshian were committed to banishing wayward spirits such as these as much as they were to healing those in need. What if they also wished to kill the ones at the temple?

_No. No going back now. If they try to, then we'll have no choice but to banish them as well. Still a better fate than being trapped here forever. For __**both **__parties._

"Can you lead us to the temple?"

The second ghost opened its black maw, not speaking with it but a parody of shock. "Temple", the first one said as if remembering, beginning to drift in a different direction past an astonished Selec Fubuki. "South. Come."

* * *

Warren Moon steepled his hands over breakfast like a deadpan Imperial governor expecting tax money. His bearded face, however, told his sorrow to any who knew him at all well. "We wait", he proclaimed to the assembled chiefs inside the temple. "I cannot believe that the Tarot would be incorrect after so many years."

Feeling the darker side of his own imagination taking control, Canopus coughed politely. "What are you saying, Sage? You think it's impossible for Destin to die?"

Warren glared at him. "Did I say that, Wind Rider? No! I wouldn't expect a bird-brained barbarian such as yourself to understand the ways of the Gods, but let me try and put it in simple terms; all signs from the divine portents indicated that our leader was chosen for great things. If there is any action the fates can take to preserve his life and mind until his task for Them is done, then it shall likely happen."

"So you're saying he's lucky", Liat managed to discern while the bird man stalked off muttering about arrogant human wizards. "Really lucky. But no amount of luck can save him from this. It's morning, Warren. If we don't get a move on soon, Kapella will come to us. Force the battle on his terms. It won't be pretty."

The Sage turned, cold eyes boring into the samurai's one. "We wait. We shall wait a week, a month, a year, if that is what it shall take for destiny's child to return to us."

"That's mighty noble of you", the other man growled. "But I doubt you have the supplies to last a week cooped up here... _Or _the money to pay my men for that long either." He was right on both counts- while the liberated towns had been overly generous in their tributes of Goth to the rebellion, the rebel war chest remained a light one. Infinitesimal compared to the mountain of wealth the Empire extorted from its people on a weekly basis.

"Sir Destin will not fail us!", Lans Hamilton chipped in, wanting to let it be known there were some chieftains who still believed their leader would pull through. "I have trained him too well."

"Aye, the kid's a natural", Bors seconded. "It'll take a lot more than a buncha stinkin' trees to sen' him to the next world."

"Be that as it may", Gilbert Oblion noted, not as easily swayed by blind hope, "it would not be impulsive to decide upon a new leader now, would it not?"

Warren's eyes glinted amusement. "If destiny's child falls, the rest of us will have no chance of victory. You fools are welcome to throw your lives away in a hopeless battle of course, but I shall have no part of it."

No one save Canopus bristled. It was simply Warren's way. "Then I shall volunteer", Lans raised his mesh gauntlet. "Though it pains me, the fact remains that sir Destin has carried us farther than the first Zenobian Revolution ever got. Janneia should fall easily enough, and the same for Valparin Peaks. The capital will be tougher but the governor there knows little of strategy."

Gilbert sighed. "Raise your hands, please, anyone who is surprised by this show of empty bravado."

Lans scowled, one hand darting for his greatsword. "And you would have a better option, traitor?"

Experienced with such matters, Warren beheld all across the table the telltale signs of the chiefs' fragile camaraderie disintegrating. Gilbert had his whip ready and Canopus eager to start a fight to defend his friend's honour. Tempers flaring, Bors and Liat had joined the ruckus, all five of them shouting to be heard over each other's threats and catcalls. Knowing any attempt at staving off the blossoming fight would only cause them to turn on him, the Moon Sage calmly withdrew to a safe distance. Now Lans had climbed over the table, a quick slash being knocked away from Gilbert's face by Canopus' club. The bird man snarled and brought it down upon-

"CHIEFS!"

All five men stopped, looking up from their argument at the runner who had now barged into the room. The first to recover, Gilbert arched his brow. "Yes, sentry? You have something to report?"

The young page did not blink at the sight before him. "T'is Destin, sirs! He is returned!"

Too busy digesting that, none of them moved for several beats. "Well?", Warren barked toward the dishevelled men before him. "What are you idiots waiting for?" Inwardly, however, he smiled as the others ran from the tent as if they hadn't been yelling at each other at the top of their lungs.

The rebel leader had emerged on the edge of the forest. He looked awful. Signs of a night's wear and tear made him look like a castaway, but that life still warmed his bones was enough for the chiefs. Bors helped him up the steps while another page fetched a blanket for the shivering mass before them. "We had feared you lost for good!", Lans explained, unwilling to be placed too far away from him for fear he might disappear.

For indeed, there was one injury about Destin that Warren knew might be beyond even the priests. In their joy, most of the chiefs did not acknowledge it, for now just happy to have their leader back, and his men emerging behind him at the treeline. They at least, seemed healthy, if malnourished.

It was the skin that did it. In the light of the morning sun it became harder to notice, but once the rebel leader had been brought wordlessly into the temple's subdued candles the truth could not be denied. Where once it had shone a healthy pink tone common to most Zenobians, Destin's skin colour was now closer to a Zeteginean's. Drawn and pale as dusk it shone in the torchlight, quickly prompting a priest to bring another hot water skin.

Destin did not comment on his new complexion or the bits of ectoplasm that still coated his body. He did not comment on anything at all, that is unless bursting into uncontrollable tears in the Grand Hall could be seen as a summary of his entire journey through the woods. Or perhaps, Warren thought from afar, the entire sum total of this long and bloody rebellion.


	7. Trial

**Trial**

**

* * *

**

**Tarot V - Hierophant**

_Having created a solid foundation upon which to build his future, the Fool is struck with a sudden fear. What if everything he's worked for is taken away? Is stolen, or lost, or destroyed or vanishes? Or what if he is just not good enough? In a panic, he heads into a holy place where he finds the Hierophant, a wise teacher and holy man. Acolytes kneel before the man, ready to hear and pass on his teachings. The Fool tells the Hierophant his fears, and asks how he can be free of them. _

_"There are only two ways," says the Hierophant sagely, "Either give up that which you fear to lose so it no longer holds any power over you, or consider what you will still have if your fear comes to pass. After all," the Hierophant continues, "if you did lose all you'd built, you would yet keep the experience and knowledge that you've gained up to this point, wouldn't you?" _

_This surprisingly pragmatic advice releases the Fool from his fear, and he is able to exit out of the sanctuary and face the world's challenges once again._

_

* * *

_

Destin ap Neb had dreamed before. As it was with the men he shared information about dreaming with other people on Warren's island, the dreams could be bad or good, and especially in his case always left one sitting up in bed wondering what the hell the chaotic imagery and sounds _meant_, if anything at all. "Dreams", Warren had advised him, "are the result of mortal minds feebly trying to make sense of things around them their conscious selves cannot deduce. Do not dwell upon them overlong, for while the unconscious mind has a different way of looking upon reality, it is rarely ever the correct one."

_Kcalb no kcalb no yreve regnif liand naeot_

Another commonly shared frustration was that it was impossible to move or act in any way until the 'show' was over. It was this frustration which covered Destin's mind now, even as he felt his own body and voice play out in ways only a dream might force.

He followed an unknown woman to a building site, or rather a place where one building was being torn down and a new one erected upon its ruins. Roshian temple architecture could be seen here and there, but with no clues as to whether it was rising or falling. "Look here, Inglesias", the woman spoke obstinately. "One code falls, and another takes its place. We're to worship some naked charlatan hussy who shuttles corpses for a living."

"The Zeteginians revere their soldiers", Destin felt his own mouth speaking in a foreign voice, a placating tone. "Perhaps that is why they are victorious."

"T'would be more fitting if they concocted a God for their spies, then", the woman shot back with venom. "A God for the traitors who sold out the throne. It suits them." She spat.

_Ev'ew ylno nugeb_

"What is done is done, my love", he felt his mouth say as his body drew closer to the woman. "We cannot turn the tide."

_Ekam siht ekam taht peek gnikam lla taht esion_

"Damnit. Couldn't feed a pygmy up here."

It was indeed a barren land. He saw that for himself as his athletic body moved across the plain with a dozen Imperial Valkyries. Trainees, by the look of their ermine capes and the informal way some of them carried their double-ended pikes. All day they travelled, seeking to cross the massive spread before the sun set, driven on by the bark of their instructor, a harsh woman with golden hair and brown eyes. Too busy fast-marching to exchange tales with his fellow trainees, he became the third one to cross the ford which was their pit stop for the night. The river remained placidly still, only briefly disturbed by the soldiers tramping through it before resuming its reflective state. Kneeling down to rest near it, he beheld his own reflection.

He?

_Won ev'i tog a ylleb lluf_

Not he.

The face, mind, and body of a woman looked back. The same one who'd derided the Zetegineans building an altar to the godless Freya in place of a Roshian temple. 'He' was an Imperial Valkyrie, with mauve cape, white helm and form-fitting blue armour underneath just like the others.

"_You just made the biggest mistake of your life, kid."_

He screamed, rising up from the bed so quickly he struck his head on a ceiling beam. By the time he was finished cursing out Roshian temple architects, Warren had hobbled up to his beside, looking amused. "Having trouble?"

"Uhn", he acknowledged from behind his sweat-coated palm. Thankfully, no slime remained. "Never drinking mead _again_. You heard it here."

"Be grateful you can still joke", the Sage reminded him. "Never mind your liquor, you were in a bad way. You haven't had anything to eat for twenty-eight hours. Get dressed and we'll fill you in on the latest downstairs."

"Fill...?", even with his head still swimming, he was able to get the implications. All he could remember was the pain. "_Dressed_?"

"You were tearing your own clothes off, boy", the Moon Sage noted without mockery. "Screaming and thrashing in your sleep. For half an hour. The priests had to use a special herb to sedate you. Whatever nightmares you must have been having should make today's news a pleasant stroll by comparison."

Waiting for the door to close after him, Destin looked down at the bedspread and sighed deeply. Dignity could be repaired, and it was true that it was preferable to the end he'd come so close to. Doubtless priests witnessed many a victim who required the removal of their undergarments for treatment anyway. This notion was reinforced when he located simple brown robes they kept in their drawers that fit snugly beneath his armour. Trying to shake off the strange sensations which yet fogged his head, he crept downstairs to meet with the chiefs.

Kapella Radigan had not rested. Well, likely _he_ had, but the combined-arms force of ghosts, living skeletons, conjured demons and his own acolytes had been unrelenting in their persecution of the rebel battle lines. Lans was missing in fact, due to having been called away to protect the cities they'd taken from a persistent harassing force, and Canopus along with him in the event of an emergency. Not surprised one bit by the swift authority the old veteran had exhibited in his incapacitation, Destin simply nodded and waited for the rest of the news to trickle in from other mouths.

"So he's likely waiting for nightfall", he surmised once the chiefs had finished talking and he had finished his allotment of soup. "The undead and demonic creatures his men summon fight all the better at night, and us the worse. Tonight, Kapella will mass his surviving divisions and drive us from this temple into the dark forest, where we can be hunted down individually."

"That would be my move", Gilbert concurred emptily, passing round a milk pitcher. "Simple, straightforward, and not something we can readily deal with. No formation can be sustained in the forest- in there, we are like lost children tripping over one another."

"I underestimated him", Destin admitted sorrowfully, beholding the map. "I focused too much on his conventional armies, without considering what other forces he might bring to his aid. For that, Tally McGrath and four other good men died in that forest... That stops _now_. We are all going to strike _before_ nightfall, and hopefully catch him off-guard."

"Bold", Blaine observed. "A good game plan. But what's the catch, boss?"

Shaking free of sweaty delirium, Destin flashed back his first smile since entering the forest. "No catch here. Just overwhelming strength. It is the last thing he will be expecting, particularly when he expects you, me, and all of the men who were with us to be dead by now. We will require a dedicated core of clerics against the undead of course, but I'd also like to keep my own division separate from that core, including Sara Ellgwyr. We're going to be the ones pushing forward, a division on either wing to support."

"Mine shall be one of those, then", Gilbert volunteered, removing his pipe to the table. "Garla and Mischa are starving for action. Didn't get any yesterday."

Only slightly thrown at the casual mention of 'starvation', his leader nodded amiably. "Anyone else who isn't Blaine?"

"Hey! What's wrong with me?", Blaine asked indignantly. "Okay boss, I messed up once, but-"

"Not that", Destin cut in. "Your people took the worst of that little sojourn. They will deny it of course, but most of them will barely be able to march today. You can bring them out if you must, but fall back if things get ugly."

"And what about yeh, kiddo?", Bors demanded half-jestingly. "No one else was screamin' bloody murder when we brought 'em. They say yeh had a nasty encounter with some spooks."

"All part of the plan", the younger man waved it away. Somehow he was feeling more energetic and wide-eyed with every second, as if excited at dominating the meeting as he usually did when at his best. "Trust me, I'm good to go. I wouldn't trust anyone else with Kapella."

Warren blinked and leaned over on his oak staff. "You saw him, then?"

"I _fought_ him", Destin corrected. He could feel the shade of uncertainty that left the gathering speechless. Some might even think him mad, or that his newly paled skin had something to do with it.

Let them think what they wanted; he'd never felt better, save for a few lingering nightmares that made even less sense than usual. "And before you go further, yes, you were right and I was wrong about his power. It is beyond anything we have ever seen before. That is why _I _shall be the one to pierce his defences, and take him down."

"He shan't surrender", Gilbert protested. "I know him. Too much pride and too much of his long life sacrificed for power."

"I did not plan on making him surrender."

If possible, that confident declaration had an even stronger effect on them. Blaine in particular looked at him with renewed interest, and Warren turned his hood away.

"I'll take the left wing", Liat offered, extended a black glove. "No old necromancer's stopping us. I guess that leaves Lancelot and the rest to stick with this 'core', right?"

The usual arrangements proceeded from there, and many of the men showed their relief at not having to take refuge in the temple any more. Many were just as glad to see their leader alive and at least somewhat well. Slowly following the initial vanguard out of the main hall, he was surprised to see two of Liat's people accosting someone he didn't recognize from the rebel forces. "Unhand me, I say!", the man was shouting. "Is this how you rebels treat civilians?"

Striding up, Destin waved a hand and both men released him. The new arrival had the thick black beard and devoted baldness common among Zenobian nobles but an extremely dirty and plain white tunic as counterpoint to how clean the rest of him looked and the pompous way he spoke. It looked like he had tried and failed at convincing other people that he was poor or a commoner. "And you would be?"

Brushing himself off, the man balked upon recognizing Destin's face. "Ah-hah, just the man I've been wanting to see. Destin the Valiant, I presume?"

Destin heard one of the samurai offer a snicker behind him. "You would. What business have you here?"

The bearded man rubbed his hands together, clasping them as he bowed. "My business is your business, my friend. I come bearing wares for the good of your glorious rebellion, rare gifts you won't find anywhere else. My name is Toad, good sir."

He immediately wished one of the other chiefs had been with him. Surely they would know more of this, and if this Toad could be trusted. Of course they would laugh at his naivete, but... "Interesting. These wares wouldn't happen to anti-undead measures, would they?"

Toad chortled. "Could be, lad. To be honest, I've so many rare and wondrous things that I lose track of their properties on occasion. But I promise you good sir, they've all got a lifetime guarantee for three days!"

"A scintillating offer", he said, seeing the merchant was oblivious to the irony. "Very well. Where are these rare and wondrous things, sir Toad?"

Toad grinned. "Of course! If you'd just come to my shop in Para..."

"Afraid not", Destin said. Again, the samurai to left snickered. Para was miles away, a backwater to the far west. "We're moving out today. To lay siege to castle Goyas, where Kapella has set up shop."

Now the merchant's face dropped. "B-but my good sir! This is a once in a lifetime opportunity! In a business as thriving as mine, my wonders come and go quick as the wind! Once they're gone, they're gone!"

He regarded the merchant dryly. "Then you should have brought your wares to us, sir Toad. That's rule one of good salesmanship, is it not? Location?"

Destin had turned and walked a fair distance away before Toad managed to fumble something from his robes. "H-here!", he called. "A Sentoul Demon! You'll not see another like it in all the world!"

The rebel leader stared. The statue did indeed look expensive and intricately made, sculpted from a reflective material into the likeness of the children of Ogres on a black wooden base. He'd fought enough of the real thing to know an accurate depiction. "And this helps us _how_, sir Toad?"

The merchant looked confused for a moment, but then held the statue closer. "Have a closer look, good sir! It's worth lies in its craftsmanship! I could think of a dozen wizards who would part with their own fortunes to gain a trinket such as this."

"Then go sell it to them", he dismissed it. "My apologies, sir Toad, but we're an army, not a travelling art collection. Perhaps elsewhere in your collection of rare and wondrous things we might find something of use, but today I really must be going."

On cue, the left samurai gave the man a firm push, just enough to get the message across. "Perhaps later, then", Toad mused. "Perhaps."

Destin waited several minutes, performing other minor tasks until he was certain the merchant was out of earshot, and then let out the laugh that had been building in him. Sometimes, meeting strange folk like that was worth all the pain and suffering. Sometimes.

* * *

The rebel line formed up north of castle Goyas. Flanked by a river on one side and forest on the other, their position could not be effectively attacked if Kapella had possessed twice the numbers he did. A fact he lamented to a skeleton trooper before barking it out to join the force assembled at the front gate.

He did not see the need to supervise the battle himself. He had no real tactical experience and the demons they'd called would not stand for micromanaging from a mortal either. Far better to keep his distance, and let his acolytes take the brunt of it while he began his own preparations.

But where to make that stand? He pondered this carefully as the first sounds of battle broke out around his home. The rebels would break down the gate first, the clueless fools, and then rush into the grand hall expecting him to be sitting on the throne like the others had been. Perhaps one of them would sit on it and set off the trap there. Wouldn't that be lovely?

Rushing first to the barracks to rush any stragglers out to help fight, he heard a cry from outside, two dozen throats or more shouting "FIGHT IT OUT!" together. What a ridiculous battle cry. Nevermind that he considered the whole concept absurd, he'd heard others from Malano and Deneuve far more intimidating. At least, the foreign chanting of Deneuve's nomadic warriors _sounded_ threatening in the unknown speech of the easterling.

"LONG LIFE TO GRAN!"

Kapella spat. Of course the majority of the idiots out there trying to breach his walls would hold up King Gran as a martyr even if he'd died before they were born. For a moment, he wondered if the legendary Prince whom the Roshian temples dedicated themselves to emulating had been just as contemptuous in life. In truth, no man was ever even close to perfect, no matter how much people desired such a role model.

Take Destin, the very urchin who had managed to survive being trapped in the forest to lead his people today with mere scratches on his body. Certainly he had to be bluffing, taking every measure to erase his pain and doubts, so as to present an invincible-seeming leader for the rebellion. All of his faults, his inexperience, his bastardry, his carelessness, his inner dreams, were swept under the rug by the careful manipulations of Sage Warren Moon.

Warren Moon...

Oh. Oh, what a marvellous idea. Show the impetous child and those fools who followed after him like so many pets what they were truly fighting for. Yes, yes, a little manipulation here, some judicious application of his own power, and they would see their beloved idol crumble before their very eyes. Clearing his throat and hastily grabbing volume 5 of the Granas Compendium, he ran to his sanctuary and waited.

Smiling in the dark.

* * *

The winged demon fell, shrieking with two arrows in its throat. Apparently even they were still subject to the laws of the human circulatory system despite their incredible resistance to pain, and so this battle was really not so much different from the others the rebels had waged against human soldiers. The same tactics were applicable as Destin, Lans, Bors and Gilbert led the army in destroying the defences of castle Goyas, particularly since the demons and undead were using no tactics at all. Only momentarily fazed when another Golem burst through a wooden gate swinging its fists, the rebel leader calmly stepped aside and allowed Warren to freeze it solid and motionless. Five seconds later it shattered like glass. Everyone kept moving.

Finally, once he saw two more wizard acolytes go down to Selec Fubuki's blade, Destin knew it was time to start the difficult part of the mission. Directing Gilbert and Liat's divisions to flank his own with easily-recognizable gestures they'd worked out in advance, he led the charge of that entire wing into the heart of the castle. Once they'd pierced the walls, in truth no more opulent than the basic, no-frills structure of castle Jindark, he saw the two soldiers at his front line recoil from a deadly chill- three more ghosts the district's governor had converted to his service with magic, and this time there would be no cleric to help banish them.

In other words, exactly what he'd been waiting for. With a momentarily jolt of parting sorrow, the two spirits he'd befriended flew from Destin's body, smashing into the enemy undead and taking them out of the game for the foreseeable future. Taking care to avoid brushing their new allies, Harrison Ordas, the energetic man Destin had entrusted with the Mystic Mace, brought that weapon forth. Instantly recognizing the holy magic contained within that steel sphere, the final foe simply back away with a defiant wail.

And Destin slumped and lay still. He had expected a substantial loss of energy without 'Inglesias' and the other, yet-named female ghost to hold him up, but still it struck him like a drug hit from Malano. Every action took twice the strain, when in truth it was merely the result of his own, still-injured body having to do all the work without help from three souls instead of one. Forcing one leg out before the other, he slowly rose to his feet just in time to see an aerial duel erupting between Gilbert's forces and a handful of the traitorous hawk men Canopus had told him about. Not wishing to concern Harrison and the rest any more than he had already, he pointed his blade to one of the major doors they had yet to try.

Inside, they beheld dozens of tall shelves in what appeared to be the castle's library, containing hundreds on hundreds of books, more than most of the rebels had ever seen in their entire lifetimes. "Stang", Harrison commented, momentarily awed. "Just look at them all!"

"And I know how to read them", a voice rang out from above.

Kapella held a new arcane tome close to his chest, and regarded the intruders with cold eyes atop the main stairway. "So you made it through the Pogrom Forest, which no soul before you has ever escaped... Remarkable. I can scarcely believe it, though it matters not in the end, child."

Busily applying a healing herb to his arm and hoping the magi wouldn't notice, Destin grimaced. "You keep calling me that. I don't think you know what it means, old man."

"Oh?", the mage arched his brow cynically, displaying an array of yellowed teeth. "A child fights blindly without understanding his motivation or cause. It fits you, does it not?"

"I have a cause."

"Is that so? Then the rumour of your growing up sheltered on the Tor, isolated from the very country you claim to love are false?"

He couldn't ignore how several of his men looked at him strangely over that. After all, how could an outsider ever truly understand Zenobia? Or any nation? "Just what are you trying to prove?"

Kapella spread his wrinkled hands wide. "Simply this. You proclaim ideas which your dear mentor Warren Moon has placed in your mouth, without any concrete proof of their validity. What if I told you King Gran Zenobia was _not_ the merry saint everyone claimed him to be? What then, child?"

"Enough gabble", Fubuki growled to Destin's left, drawing his blade. "This isn't a debate. Let's finish it."

The magi smiled, waved his arm. "As you wish. _Hcram ot eht kcalb neeuq!"_

Too late, Destin saw the identical trio of summoning circles his foe had painted upon the carpet. Three clouds of darkness rose and resolved into three snarling demons before anyone could reach their summoner. Behind that new wall of defenders, Destin's men could all make out the sound of Kapella chanting, preparing another spell which none of them liked the sound of.

Fubuki was the first to react, lancing out with his katana towards the left demon and ignoring the blast of black energy it unleashed in retaliation. "Go!", he shouted to the rest, his taciturn nature forgotten. "Don't just stand there, idiots! Get the others!"

For once Destin did not mind the samurai undermining him. "Harrison to the right! Jennifer center! I'll take Kapella!", he concurred at equal volume, addressing the mouthy soldier with the holy mace and the lady archer with the most kills in his division. The remainder distributed themselves evenly among the small line while their leader vaulted straight over the middle demon to where the old magi had nearly finished with his spell- a frigid storm of ice which washed over all the rebels equally but thankfully slaying none of them. Slashing down on air as Kapella dodged, Destin brought it up again to guard against whatever the white-haired mage facing him might try next while trying to stop his teeth chattering.

"How valiant", Kapella drawled, "a fine martyr for your people. But when you die, your rebellion dies with you. _Won evi tog a ylleb lluf!"_

"Better than cowering at the back of the line in my nice safe castle!", Destin snarled back, driving his blade into the firewall that now poured outward from the mage's palms. This time he remembered to brace hard, and so by angling his sword he was able to redirect most of the blaze into the tall bookshelves all around them... Which promptly burst into flames. The resulting heat was noticeable, but only Kapella showed horror at the sight of burning books and shelves. "NO! Curse you! Look at what you made me _do_!"

"Send the bill to Volzak", the rebel quipped, taking another slash and cutting the front of the man's robes. They made an odd pair, a small part of him noted, both of them wearing all red despite being on opposite sides, now limned in orange light by the spreading fire. Behind and to his left, he heard an inhuman screech and knew that Selec Fubuki had hit his mark, eviscerating the summoned imp beyond recovery with his usual lethal efficiency. Kapella, however, would not be so easily slain. Chanting, he raised his hands a third time, this time unleashing the storm of deadly lightning bolts which had killed Tally McGrath. Cursing, the rebel leader hurriedly grabbed his own faded red armour plate, thumbing the clasps, and hurled it off his body to the floor just in time.

Just as pictured in his own books at Volzak's study, the bolts curved away from his exposed tunic towards the largest hunk of metal available, blowing the entire thing out from within with an unwholesome crackling that left black spots dotting it like a plague. Just as Tally's armour had been.

"Clever", Kapella acknowledged over the awful noise. "But that won't work twice- And I _SEE_ you there, foolish samurai! _Uoy nac eb ym ragus ybab!" _Wheeling around, he shot more streams of lightning towards the bookshelf where Fubuki had been preparing to slash the old mage in the back. He rolled away from the falling wreck, blocking as he'd learned from observing Destin, but a few bolts still stung his armour. He did not scream, but then a veteran like him had put up with quite a lot of abuse without howling out his pain to the world like a child. Impassive behind his face mask, he lifted his katana into the guard position, ready to blunt another wave if need be.

"Always the same story", the bearded mage admonished them cockily. Two against one, but it hardly felt that way with the magical might in his withered hands. "In death, all of Gran ap Zenobia's flaws were forgiven, with only people my age to remember the truth."

"Funny", Destin shot back, now truly starting to develop hatred for Kapella. So much like Warren Moon, but without the wisdom and inner gentleness which made his insults and patronizing manner easier to put up with. As much as he cherished his old mentor, it was astonishing to see just how aggravating an old wizard like that could be with just a drop more arrogance and none of the charming eccentricity. "I somehow doubt anyone will consider _you_ a kindly old man when we're done here."

Kapella scoffed, charging hellfire in his hands for a fourth blast. "Of course not. They're all weak. They lack the will to seek power as I have, and prefer to endlessly lament a dead king to cover up their own failures in life! _Won evi tog a ylleb lluf!_"

He released the firewall, directed not at Destin but Fubuki's prone form. Instinct overpowered reason, and Destin felt himself leaping before the advancing inferno just before it struck home on his vambrace. The hunk of steel took the heat admirably, but by the end it held so much that the rebel cast it to the ground, a burning wreck no longer suited for anything but kindling.

"Poor deluded children.", the mage taunted from beyond the blaze, which was now surging past Destin to roast the samurai alive, split by the katana but still painful. "No one ever won a war without motivation. Especially the leader. You see? You _see_? None of your ideas are your own! You simply believe!"

Devoid of both armour and guard and scorched in a half-dozen places, Destin stood, for once wordless. Perhaps he'd realized that it was hopeless.

"It's useless anyway", Kapella noted, at once solemn and fearful at the sight of the fires consuming his home. "This castle is doomed, thanks to _your_ foolishness. Leave this place, child. Save yourself. We'll meet again, and maybe by then you'll have realized the sham you fight for. Well? Nothing to say, child? Speak up; I'm an old man, hard of hearing!"

The rebel cast him an icy glare before raising his voice to speak over the sound of burning wood. "Whoever said I fought for King Gran? I fight to reverse the deeds of evil men. And right now, sir Kapella Radigan... You're about as evil as they come. So die."

The brief flicker of sadness went unnoticed by Destin, but while Fubuki had been blasted to his knees by the last firewall, he was still able to watch through the slits of his mask as Kapella chanted another spell against the man Fubuki had never accepted as leader. "Ever the child. Be destroyed, then! _Klaatu, veratu, torga-nestru-targu-tora!_"

Lacking anything else to guard with, Destin caught the next lightning barrage on his blade, clutching it tightly as a lifeline against the bolts. "What's _your_ motivation then, governor?", he called over the sounds of electricity surging down the hilt and into his bones. "Power? Honour? Respect? You fail in all three of these."

"Be SILENT, brat!", the man screamed back, his elder's serenity gone even as he prepared an ice storm. "And do not speak of things you do not understand! How would _you_ like to be constantly badgered by an ancient Sage, never satisfied, impossible to please! _Klaatu, barada..._"

As wearied and enraged as Kapella was, this ice storm was nearly as bad as the first, and it chilled both its targets beyond feeling. The flurry of white flakes, however, also served to mask the mage's doom- he suddenly felt something heavy entering his sternum. Lights, sounds, sensations all muddled themselves in a whirlwind, but the one recognizable one among them took a breath to identify, during which time blood had trickled down into his eyes, blinding him. _Impossible, _his dulled brain managed to spark. _ He took that full-force, he should be dead!_

He knew that sound. It was high, cold, laughter. Destin's laughter. The rebel leader was amused by his death. That, or something else. It was too dark now to tell.

"Actually, I do have an idea of what that's like."

He coughed hard, no longer able to stand, and fell down upon the bloodstained sword which had pierced his chest. "What... Are... You...?"

And as Fubuki watched, Destin looked into his eyes and realized what he'd done. The samurai was right to look scared of him. No mortal could have survived so many magical attacks, and still come out the victor. No one could have lived through the ghosts' attack the way he had and befriended them still. No one could have led the ragged bands of Zenobian rookies to victory over trained soldiers.

_Then, I am 'no one'. __**Neb.**_

The answer was clear. "Destiny's _Child_", he whispered into the old man's ear before withdrawing his blade and decapitating him with a swift backhand. For a moment he froze up like usual, but the heat alone was enough to jar him out of that, reminding him of the dangerous amount of fire still spreading across the castle's framework. "Evacuate! Evacuate!", he hoarsely shouted to whoever might still be here besides himself and Fubuki, who was already running from the study. He repeated the command all the way out of the foyer, and then turned to watch as Kapella's fortress fell apart into its individual ramparts of stone, never to be rebuilt in his own lifetime.

* * *

Two days after the destruction of castle Goyas, a frigid white wind broke upon the northern Highlands as fierce as any invading army or spell. This great storm whistled like the howls of the damned, doubtless capable of chilling those without proper attire down to their very bones, yet it was common enough in the upper crust of Zeteginea that there were no casualties resulting from it.

Empress Valencima Endora I stood atop one of dozens of balconies atop the Castle Xanadu and watched the storm rage below. The massive stretch of Highland architecture spreading out from the castle, decanted with snowdrifts and statues, was milling with soldiers. Many of them were detached from active divisions but also many were from the city's home garrison at the very heart of the Empire's power. Appropriately, Castle Xanadu was not like other castles; a six floor edifice of grey marble and bronze liner where other castles might only have three. Supplies and quarters for eight hundred troops instead of one hundred, and fortifications enough to hold an invading enemy at the city's outer gates for weeks instead of days or hours before they even reached the castle proper. A fitting heart for the Empire, still as magnificent and intimidating as it had been when a past Highland Emperor had ordered it built some hundred years ago, and the interior was no less robust.

Now the Black Queen watched crowds of people mingling with the valkyries and other Imperial soldiers about the cityscape, inevitably drawn to an opportunity to reunite with loved ones gone to war. There were many fathers with children holding their hands, searching the rows of uniformed women for a particular someone close to their heart. For a moment Endora allowed herself to be soothed by the sight of it all, a reminder of the love she had once enjoyed before her family had tragically fragmented.

Twenty-six years past, her husband had fallen ill and eventually died. Not from Sebastian's plague, scourge that it was, but from a different kind of pox with no discernible cause and no possible cure. Even the infidel monks of Roshian they'd coerced into helping could not save him, and so his wife and only son had inherited everything he'd built. As if this was not enough, his death came on the footsteps of news about an invading nation to the far north, an aggressive conqueror which disciplined its people through strict religion and a hierarchy of wealthy nobles and priests. The Holy Lodis Empire was coming for them. It would not be denied.

Emperor Gareth Endora could have dealt with it. He could have spent the years between the report and first contact building up the troops needed to fight them, organize a combined-arms force that would send the Lodis mongrels screaming back to their lands. But she, Valencima, was not her dear husband. As more scouts and infiltrators came to Xanadu and made clear from their interrogations the sheer size of the enemy's lands and army, whatever had remained of her will to carry on had been hammered into scrap, with little else left to look forward to but a few decades of unhappy rulership and the executioners' blade.

Then the Sage of Light had appeared, and everything changed.

Though most of the famous council of Sages paid little attention to the politics of kingdoms, Rashidi of Light, legendary for his power and courage even here in the Highlands, proposed a unified front against Lodis. The neighbouring nations would be swept aside regardless of allegiance, he had reasoned with her, so why not give them the opportunity to save themselves from eventual oblivion? Their only chance at a clean victory against Lodis lay in the combined arms and resources of all five of the lands of the south; Zeteginea, Malano, Deneuve, Kasolat, and Zenobia.

The other countries had not seen it this way. The merchant's council of Malano had collectively dismissed Lodis as a fantasy, too preoccupied with their infantile profits and trade franchise to even dream of mobilizing for war. The fisherman's coalition and the Order of Roshian, the co-governors of Kasolat, had also rejected proposal after proposal, citing the Highlanders' typical abuse of the Order's agents in their lands. While Deneuve and Zenobia's proud kings had been slightly more receptive to the idea, both were also fiercely independent men who feared any kind of settlement that placed Zeteginea's generals in charge of the combined initiative, even though they were the most experienced and skilled by far.

Privately, Endora believed that Deneuve's King Siano had shared King Gran's long-held prejudices towards female leaders- never mind that the current Supreme Overlord was male. Without the approval of Gran, Zenobia and her vassal nations would never capitulate. So long as Gran lived, no alliance was possible.

So she'd had no choice but to rectify that problem the hard way, treating the resulting year of campaigning as a sort of warm-up for Lodis. As hoped, the Zenobian forces had been caught completely off-guard, and their leadership had been executed thanks to swift action on the Sage Rashidi's part. While reports trickled in over top the massive bureaucratic effort of organizing all remaining forces in the five kingdoms into a combined armada about the occasional rebellion in Zenobia, nothing in twelve years had ever shown any sign of Gran's people finding the strength to destroy the occupying force they'd left there.

Until now. Forcing her mind back to reality, Endora walked back inside to regard the assembled generals of Empire who waited patiently in the large ceremonial hall upon the topmost floor of Castle Xanadu. Sizing them up as a single group, she thought that the assembly perfectly fitted the average Zenobian's stereotypes of common attributes among the Highlanders. Most often used in a derogatory slur, of course. The Highlanders could not help their birthright, and naturally no Zenobian would ever stop to consider that perhaps _they_ were the freaks, the aberrations, here.

There was Supreme Overlord Hikash closest to her, a mountain of a man clad in ebony armour, who yet retained bright gold hair on either side of his head despite serving the Empire for thirty-five years. All of the Empire's core generals had never shown her any major sign of disloyalty, but Hikash remained the only one she could truly confide in. Strengthened by the many trials provided by Freya for dedicated soldiers over his long lifetime, the man possessed strength and determination enough to keep any of the other equally powerful generals in line through their fear of him. Hikash had never lost a battle to anyone, strategically _or_ physically, and most likely never would.

The four under him, lined up behind in a nearly identical fashion, were known as the Empire's 4 Deva. Requiring equivalently difficult trials and years of training under the Supreme Overlord's tutelage that broke a great many pretenders every winter, the 4 warriors composed the pillars of the Highland forces, above the all-female valkyries or even highest-ranking muses and paladins. Each one capable of taking down dozens of ordinary soldiers by themselves if by chance the twenty divisions under their direct control failed them. Among other tales of their incredible feats, Empress Endora had gotten word that Hikash and his disciples practiced together against wild Dragons in the Zeteginean tundra. Old ones of Gold and Platinum, with scales like adamantium and breath weapons capable of destroying that mighty substance. Anything else would have been unsporting.

Whether naturally or out of a desire for unit cohesion, each of them kept their hair extremely long and loose. Three of them also bore the icy-pale skin common to all Highlanders, while only the 4th Deva, General Tanaburs Luvalon, held a darker tone more associated with the hot-blooded westerlings from Deneuve's arid deserts. Rumours always floated about that he was least half westerling, but all four bore the tiny white circles framing their irises that showed a primarily Highland bloodline, just as nearly everyone in Xanadu did. To his left stood Cale Previa, Rowdain Figaro, and Kaus Debonair, the 3rd, 2nd, and 1st Deva respectively.

In contrast to _that _stood the prince of the Highlands. Her firstborn and only living son, Gares Endora, was now completely unrecognizable to her. He kept the armour he wore for his role as the highest extent of the Empire's wrath, blacker than even Hikash's own, upon him at nearly all times. Between the curving horns atop the massive suit's helmet and the sinister-looking visor and red cape, her son looked more like one of the Ogres of legend than a mortal man.

Her small eyes lingered there a moment, unable to ignore the way the titanic suit obscured so much of Gares' skin, as if replacing it. Of all the things Sage Rashidi had helped the Highlanders with, this was the one thing she truly regretted. Before taking up the armour, weapons, and mindset of the long-extinct Black Knights, Gares had been such a handsome child, stalwart if never quite innocent after his father's untimely death.

Now there was little she could recognize of the child she'd raised from a squalling infant, nothing but dark metal and jagged spikes and an unmistakable aura of malice he carried with him like a bad smell. The Black Knight Gares liked to win, liked to kill, and not before inflicting as much pain on his opponents as possible before their souls left this world in terror of what he might do to them next.

No matter. Her strength was needed now to make clear the seriousness of the news. Herself, who wore the robe and billowing black cloak of Empress over fire-styled hair and skin, both equally pale. She studied each of the impassive faces of the men before her, each one willing to do whatever was necessary to ensure the survival of their people. "Hikash... my son... my loyal Deva... Freya be with you all. I have gathered you all here today to bring to your attention the advent of the second Zenobian Rebellion."

She cleared her aristocratic throat, and beheld various surprised reactions among her generals over that, but none dared shout a denial or hasty enquiry at this alarming news.

"Now, while you might consider this uprising to be little better than the one we quelled twelve winters back, the reports from Prochon's spies and the district governors have made it clear that this is no joking matter. This rebellion has managed to depose three of our governors in that country in the space of one week, and already they show signs of moving on the remaining regions to take them as well. It has become clear as crystal that none of the Zenobian authorities who were willing to work with us, or even the scratch force we left behind, will be able to stop them."

"This is... ill news indeed, my lady", Hikash remarked, his deep, rich voice conveying all courtesy due to her and more- friendship. "We're nary a month from launching an invasion of Lodis. To strip away a portion of our army to deal with some mongrel rebels would delay our operation for months more, possibly giving Lodis time to recover from last year's battle and go back on the offensive. Not a tenable position at all."

"I'm aware of that. But this new army will not be put off either. _Someone_ is going to have to deal with them, and soon, lest we lose that entire continent and its many resources. With any luck, the interference will be minimal and we can resume the invasion."

"What about the governors?", tan-haired General Figaro asked impatiently; as ever, the most impulsive and confrontational of the current 4 Deva. _Just like his father was._ "What do _they_ have to say for themselves?"

"It was through Sage Rashidi that I was able to make a final confirmation of the rebels' progress, when he last visited me to notify me that his apprentice, Kapella Radigan, was slain, and the Pogrom Forest District lost."

_Now _she had them talking, or at least muttering uneasily to themselves. Even if some of them had never met face-to-face with the Sage's most pathetic pupil, the mere fact that he was one of _Rashidi's _made the matter of his death something to worry about. "_Freyashalas. _This is ridiculous", Figaro cursed. "Why now? The old man should just go down to Zenobia and sort it out himself."

"And you should learn to keep your big mouth shut, young Figaro", a new voice rang out. "But you do not."

All of them, even Gares, turned to the cold voice just in time to see the blue-robed figure of Sage Rashidi step from the promenade. So simple-looking a man, yet his pride and calumny radiated across to the assembled generals. Endora knew it was justified. Who else but the legendary hero Rashidi could have saved their nation from Lodis? Who else but Rashidi could have made the current Empire possible? The Sage of Light might not be a devoted confidant such as Hikash, but his advice to Endora would never be ignored. He had proven his worth many times over, and while she ignored the way general Kaus Debonair averted his eyes from the sage or how Figaro spat on the tile to avert evil, any retribution by the Sage for their disrespect would go without reprimand.

"Her majesty speaks the truth. The rebellion is a very real threat", Rashidi confirmed without rancour. "If my student Kapella could not defeat them then no other mortal in Zenobia can."

Hikash gave a peremptory bow to mask his own distaste for the man. "What can you tell us about this rebellion, Sage? Perhaps if we understood their driving force better, we might be able to negotiate a peace settlement, at least until Lodis is properly crushed."

Endora, however, cleared her throat before the Sage could manage a reply. "Negotiations are not the province of the Supreme Overlord, Hikash. _We _shall decide when and how to proceed with any diplomacy required, and I can tell you now it will not be. These terrorists are an illegitimate authority, and we will not deign them with the courtesy we might extend to a true nation."

The chill in her edict silenced any further suggestions at peace, and Rashidi gave a tiny, imperceptible smile at her. "As ever, her majesty makes the wise choice. No, negotiations will not work I'm afraid. For this enemy was forged by the manipulations and resources of another Sage- Warren, the Moon Sage. Precisely why _now_ I have no idea, but I can tell you this; he is not commanding them directly. He is not the real threat."

None of the generals who had been ignorant of Kapella's existence would not know that name, only his element. All the council of Sages were the same to them anyway; old, overconfident men who had spent their lifetimes and more mastering the ways of the old Gods, and expected all those who lacked their gift to follow their wishes. "Who, then?", Gares Endora asked, his hollow voice echoing from within his helmet with a rare respect. Rashidi had taught him much. "Who's the ringleader of this gang of death-seeking idiots?"

"_That_, my young prince,", the Sage noted wryly to Gares, "was my greatest surprise." With one palm outstretched, he blew hard upon it, scattering a powder into the air before the assembled generals. Without waiting for the substance to fall, he ignited the entire thing with one jab of his pinky finger. Even in the cold air of the Highlands, the fire's heat warmed each of their faces, shining off chest plates and mirrors as it resolved into a thirtysomething man wearing intricately-designed armour including a steel vambrace on one arm. Though the image lacked colour, the generals could make out a healthy mop of hair beneath the plate on his head.

"This is Destin ap _Neb_", Rashidi explained matter-of-factly. "Or 'Destin the Valiant', as some of the folk of Zenobia call him now. He's said to be an exceptionally skilled swordsman and a canny leader of men, who proclaims he only seeks redemption for King Gran's sacrifice, not rulership of the country himself. But most shocking of all was his history. Or rather, his lack of it. With all of my usual sources sniffing about, there's nary a hint of his origin. Where he was born, who his parents were, what his childhood was like, who trained him in the way of the sword... All a complete blank."

"You're saying we're being beaten by some no-name from the sticks?", Figaro cut in. "Inconcievable!"

Rashidi did not even make a visible movement with the hands in the flowing sleeves of his robes, or speak an incantation. The 2nd Deva simply fell to the marble flooring with a shout, loudly banging his jaw into it before lying there, and unable to get up for a good ten seconds afterward. "Moving on then", the Sage continued, "Empress, I would advise a counterattack planned under the assumption that the remaining districts will fall in the time it takes to get a detachment from the main force to shore at the capital. While I'm sure the bandit lord and the witch will put up ample resistance with their levies, neither is a military expert. Governor Darian even less so."

"A prudent move", Endora agreed, looking back at her loyal generals. "Who among you shall go, then?"

An angry rumble from Gares was the first answer. "I can't", her child said, sounding genuinely depressed behind the metallic guise that hid his face. "Believe me, nothing would please me more than to go down there and cleave those idiots' necks myself, but I'm not done on Avalon yet. Damned fools won't give an inch so long as that stupid monk is leading them. It might take me a few weeks yet to find her."

Across from him, snow-maned Kaus Debonair, youngest of the current Deva, now stood. "I shall volunteer, Empress. I'll take the east legion's recon divisions south, across the sea to Zenobia's capital. They're fast enough to trounce the rebels and get back to the border in time... and do it surgically, with a minimum of bloodshed."

"You will try to assassinate their leader?", Endora asked curiously. "You believe it will be that easy, Kaus?"

"Our army is second to none, my lady", the 1st Deva said, eager to convince them of the validity of his plan. "Even the recon forces should be able to do it, for the rebels will be inexperienced at fighting large numbers of air forces. I've been to Zenobia in the past. Their capital's walls are tall and mighty; impossible for a land-based army to breach without months of preparation. Even if we don't succeed at first, there will be nothing they can do to take the capital from us. This Destin of house Neb does not seem one to hide while his men do the fighting."

"Well reasoned", Rashidi observed from near Endora's throne, for once sounding genuinely impressed instead of sarcastic. "You_ do _seem to have a good plan of action for once, sir Debonair. Empress?"

"Far be it for me to stop the youngest Deva from proving himself", Endora seconded, leaning on one arm towards her general. "Do what you must, general. But do not forget the lessons of history, either."

Debonair blinked. "My lady?"

Looking over each general to catch their eyes, Empress Endora narrowed her own in disapproval. "Twenty-four years. Twenty-four years of occupation and the Zenobians still refuse to see sense. Their fanatical pride is overwhelming, self-destructive, blind to the truth. _If_ indeed the rebellion does surrender to you with the death of their leader, then by all means take it. However..." her bleached brow darkened. "If blood runs true, if these _haaswein_ cry out in vengeance for their fallen champion and continue their advance, then it shall be up to you to administer the final, permanent cure for their unrest. _Death_, Debonair. You and your unit will slay any others who might disturb the peace at this critical time. This, I decree."

General Debonair looked sick at the command, but it was far too late to back out now. He bowed. "It will be done, Empress. I will keep the rest of you informed on my progress."

"You do that", Gares Endora shot back nastily. "They give you any trouble, just give me a ring, pretty-boy. There's no mortal in this world who can outsmart _this_", and he hefted the massive two-handed axe that was his main weapon for emphasis.

Without further ceremony, the Empress dismissed all of the Empire's generals save for the Black Knight, who seemed puzzled by the extra attention. "What's wrong, your worship? Did I forget to polish somewhere?"

Endora regarded him sadly from the throne, glad to be able to be herself again with the generals gone. " 'Your worship'? Does it truly hurt so much to call me what I am, Gares?"

The demonic helmet obscured any expression, but she could recognize the sense of doubt in the way he carried himself. "Well I... we... It's just embarrassing, is all. Come _on_, mother. We're not prudes who can't go for days without seeing each other. I've been busy. Real busy."

"Come hither", she commanded, now possessed of more authority than she had when dealing with Debonair and Hikash's objections to the plan. "Remove your helmet. Let me see your face."

She could read him still, trying to fight the order on one hand but remembering that she was still the Empress. He looked distant and doubly uncomfortable with it, and that fact hurt her more than she had believed possible. "Come, my son. Stand by me now."

Slowly, Gares Endora raised both gauntlets to the sides of his helmet, detaching the massive bucket of black iron like a sacred relic. Cradling it with one arm, he raised the other to the Empress. "Why?"

She could not help but stare. Underneath the helmet was a pale, hairless face mangled by war and constant use of the helmet. What had once been handsome features that any woman in Zeteginea would fall for had been warped and distorted into waxy texture, so used to being set into an expression of demonic malice beneath his visor that Gares found it awkward to smile. Instead he brought himself to regard her intently and quizzically, as if he still couldn't tell why she had requested this moment alone.

"I wish you'd never taken this path, Gares", she admitted weakly, taking his hand in both of her own. "I know. The way of the Black Knight makes you a formidable warrior, but it also kills your ability to feel and love as efficiently as the enemies you so eagerly slay. And I wonder in my time alone, 'what could have spurred my only son to such danger?' Was it the Sage?"

Gares waited several seconds before deciding on a reply. "He... helped me. Showed me what to do. But... it was _my_ choice, mother. No one else's. If I'm ever to succeed you as ruler of the Empire, I have to be _strong_, strong enough to crush our enemies. I have to become as strong as father was."

She seemed to wilt further at the mention of Gareth Endora. "I talk with him sometimes, you know", she noted raspily between tears. "He's very interested in you. He wishes you'd gone and married that girl. What was her name again?"

"Rauny", the Black Knight provided flatly, unwilling to remind her that her husband could not possibly be talking to her. "The youngest living daughter of Overlord Hikash."

"Yes, you would have made a fine match... She was so nice when we had her over the other night."

Gares stopped short. Princess Rauny Vinzalf had deserted them years ago. It had been twenty years since she'd given Gares his first and only kiss. Not knowing himself why, he felt his hand creeping up to feel the spot on his cheek where it had happened, now twisted and discoloured into a slab of flesh lacking in nerve endings.

He'd had enough. _What the hell am I doing here, listening to this crazy woman blather? _"Mother. I really _do_ have to go now. Avalon isn't going to convert itself, believe me."

"No", Endora whispered, abruptly sounding terrified. "Don't leave me. Don't leave me again. Please! I beg you stay with me awhile longer."

_Fine. One minute. _He leaned back, letting the insane woman stroke him and babble on about things he didn't care about until he could stand no more, and finally broke apart. "I'll return", Gares assured Endora frostily before she could protest further. "Once Avalon and the rebellion are crushed. Remember, there's no warrior who can defeat the Black Knight." _Yeah, I'll return all right. When it's time for me to take what's rightfully mine from your pathetic ass._

With that he was gone, leaving the Empress to deal with encroaching madness alone.

And outside, the storm continued to rage.

* * *

Deva-General Kaus Debonair strode from the castle's great hall with more than one doubt riding his mind, but for a moment all of that was forgotten when a svelte figure in white robes rushed up to grab him, pinning him against the castle wall around a nearby pillar so no one else might see.

But this was no assassin. Just the opposite, for as they pressed further into the tiny alcove she forced a kiss onto his lips, and he wasn't too proud to reciprocate. "I thought they'd never finish", the chestnut-haired Norn Dias commented once they'd pulled back. "What's the deal, Kaus?"

_Freyashalas_, this girl always knew how to demolish his dignity. Though Debonair usually held himself apart from others before and after being promoted to the elite rank of 1st Deva, whatever childhood experiences had wrought that trait in him had not counted on the beautiful daughter of Diaspola's governor becoming his girlfriend. Around her, his great strength melted to mush and he could only babble suggestions half the time. "Battle plans", he finally choked out. "There's a new rebellion afoot in Zenobia. I've volunteered to quell it."

The girl's face drooped. "Why'd you have to go do that? Aren't you busy enough watching over the invasion force? Don't you have an entire legion to babysit?"

The youngest Deva rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry Norn, but duty comes first. Though I must admit, I'm not looking forward to this one at all."

"How come?"

Before continuing, he moved his gaze about the area, searching for any sign of eavesdroppers. Norn usually kept their little sessions private, but he could take no chances. "I am to direct our forces in killing people who only wish to regain autonomy over their own lands. In all truth, our governors have not given them very much to be satisfied with for the past twenty four years. They are prideful yes, but even Malanians would revolt under such conditions." He realized seconds after saying this that Norn was technically a Malanian no matter how much time she spent in the Highlands, and lowered his head. "Ah. I am sorry, Norn."

"You're forgiven", the girl replied brightly. "And it's true- most of the merchant princes in my homeland get reeeal friendly once you show them a bit of steel or Goth. I think that's why- nevermind." The way she'd suddenly stopped herself made Debonair want to probe for more details on the situation in Malano, but the chance was past. Asking now would simply upset her. "In any case, I just wish our Empress would say no to that creepy old man once in a while. Her majesty should not have to play second-fiddle to the Sage, yet she treats him like a walking God."

"For once we agree", Norn noted with detached concern, glancing over towards the grand hall where the Empress was no doubt still sitting on the throne, often confronting people only she could speak with. "She's changed so much from the strong woman I knew. I'd suggest letting her heir on board, but he'd be even worse."

It felt good to hear his own misgivings echoed by his soul-mate this way, but Kaus Debonair would never forget who or more importantly _what_ he was. A loyal son and Deva of the Zeteginean Empire, none of which had questioned their orders before- it was not merely possessing the strength and skill of an entire division of normal soldiers which gave he, the impulsive Figaro, somber Luvalon and even prideful Previa their acclaim, but loyalty and integrity. Belief in the rightness of their cause no matter what came their way. When the time finally came for them to leave this plain, Freya would be waiting with a smile upon Her lips at such dedicated warriors.

In any case, any kind of undermining or countermanding was out of the question with Hikash and Rashidi supporting the increasingly erratic woman who occupied the Highland throne. In Kaus Debonair's time in the service he'd been forced to admit that there were spartan, even cruel, policies carried out under the Empire, but hardly enough to justify the effort an uprising would take, and even if so _he_ would not be the one to be in that uprising. His homeland's security was more important than a handful of peasants who had taken issue with not having enough water or bread to eat. Better a hard life for some, he reasoned, than death at the hands of Lodis. Perhaps, after the war was over, they could redress some of the great wrongs they'd visited upon their neighbours. Assuming the Empress still lived- Norn had been absolutely right in her appraisal of her son Gares, a tyrannous man whose wanton bloodlust spooked even hardened warriors such as he.

"I must go soon", he noted to her, knowing that time waited for no man and their time together was best kept discreet. "Zenobia is a long way from here. Even by air it will take many days and nights to gather my forces."

Norn leaned over to his ear. "Won't you stop at my house on your way? Diaspola is wonderful this time of year."

Without thinking, Debonair reached over to the side of her head, brushing away curled brown tresses. Before he knew it, her hands were around his muscles and clutching heated thighs. She bent down and covered his mouth with hers as if to silence whatever protest his decades of military discipline might make him say.

She need not have worried. For the moment, the spark of animal passion no human could ever fully extinguish around those destined for them had blocked out the Deva-General's professional veneer, sprung from the lust of a man who had never before her experienced true passion. He lost all sense of himself, and his cold world of metalworks and troop movements and duty. And Norn's body was so lush beneath her robes that its warmth blocked out the bitter cold with the slightest touch to his own skin.

"Don't be too long."

Feeling inhumanly energized despite his reluctance to perform the task ahead of him, he broke into one of his rare smiles. "I shan't. After all, I have someone very special to come back to."


	8. Full Moon

A Note: Fair warning, there is harsher language in this chapter than usual, including references to cannibalism.

* * *

**Full Moon**

**Tarot VIII - Strength**

**

* * *

**

_The Fool, victorious over his enemies, is feeling very arrogant, powerful, even vengeful. There is a hot passion in him that he can barely control. It is in this state that he comes across a maiden struggling with a lion. Running to help, he arrives in time to see her gently but firmly shut the lion's mouth! In fact, the beast, which seemed so wild and fierce a moment ago, is now completely at her command. _

_Amazed, the Fool asks her, "How did you do that?" One hand on the lion's mane, she answers, "Will power. Any beast, no matter how wild, will back down before a superior will." At that moment, the Maiden meets the Fool's eyes; though saintly and young, her look is knowing and filled with great power. "Likewise," she says to him, "there are many unworthy impulses inside us. It is not wrong to have them. But it is wrong to let them control us. We are human, not beast, and we can command such energy, use them for higher purposes." His rage quieted, the Fool nods, enlightened, and walks away knowing that it wasn't only the lion that was tamed this day by a Maiden's pure and innocent strength._

_

* * *

_

Freshly shaved, fed, healed, and washed, Destin requested another meeting of the chiefs. Just deciding upon the place for it had taken hours, for he did not wish to impose upon the Roshian temple further than he already had and having had little part in the liberation of the cities south of the district he was not sure what reaction to expect from them. Consulting with Lans they had finally convened at Lolaima, a trade city off the beaten path his allies had fought along to reach the south end of the forest. One by one they arrived, unshaven and perhaps a bit irritated at the summons, but respectful and willing to listen to his words while their troops drilled and convened.

"First, a congratulations are order for all of us", he intoned to the assembled leaders. "I know that we were facing an enemy unlike any most of us had seen before, and far stronger than anyone predicted. The fact that we got away with so few casualties is testament to our teamwork and skill. You all did beautifully."

"Can the flattery, boss", Blaine cut in, sounding intent but also energetic from their victory. "Word is you and Fubu took down the big man all by yourselves. Not too shabby at all. So, a toast to our fearless leader!"

Blaine raised his glass- the only one who had bothered to order anything alcoholic to drink, but the sentiment was shared. Studying the floorboards for a moment, Destin chuckled. "Fair enough. The reason I called you here... is to plan our next move."

Unsurprised by the hush that fell over them all, he signalled for two pages to bring in their familiar parchment map of Zenobia. "By all appearances", he said sternly, palming the Pogrom Forest district's representative area, "we've just defeated the most dangerous of the Empire's governors here in Zenobia. That's good progress, and I'd like to believe that the remaining three will be easier... but the last time I believed that I ended up wandering around starving in a haunted forest all day and taking heavy casualties. At least now we can pick and choose at will."

"What news of the Empire?", Lans prodded. "Surely by now they have realized what is happening."

"No sign yet", Canopus reported gruffly from his end of the table with Gilbert nodding confirmation. "Their merfolk allies control the seas of course, but they can't transport entire armies without ships. We'll see it long before they make shorefall, don't worry."

"Then I suggest a strike at the Lake Janneia district", Destin offered, spreading his palm to the map's 'east' where a large body of freshwater was depicted. "They're really no better off than Sharom's levies, and they don't have any nonconventional allies, not even any wizards."

"The capital is much the same", Liat countered, pointing instead at a penninsula to the southwest of the Pogrom district. "We'll never get the legitimacy you so crave unless we can take it. Until then, we're just a bunch of cutthroats in most people's eyes."

"Nae, master samurai", Bors remarked on the discussion, cupping his beard in one palm. "That city's enclosed in mighty walls of white, twenty an' five feet high and a gate a' solid steel. That'll be the toughest nut t'crack now- t'would be better off savin' for last."

"T'is not like Governor Darian is much of a strategist anyway", Lans observed disparagingly. "Just an honourless dog hiding behind his walls. No threat at all."

"Good to hear that", their leader said, turning back to the map. He'd paid a visit to Para afterwards, but Toad was nowhere be seen, only an empty lot where his store had been said to be. "Now, I noticed Lake Janneia's got a natural choke point at its bridge, crossing the lake to castle Elsrum's island. Is the castle suited for defence?"

"There's a gate and a moat", Lans recalled from the dreadful battle twelve years ago. "But no anti-siege component, unless they have made renovations since then. 'Governor' Sirius is no leader of men, sir Destin. It should not be a difficult battle."

Not that any of them would ever fall for such a promise again.

"Then we'll strike from the west", Destin continued, disappointed by the knight's arrogance but continuing to outline the plan. "Drive them from the cities back to Elsrum and cordon the bridge. As usual, Canopus and Gilbert will be watching our backs against any unpleasant surprises."

Warren coughed. "Who shall be your representative, then? You're _obviously_ not going yourself, boy."

Destin was indeed on the verge of arguing the point, but the old Sage's gaze was implacable as ever. "Parcival has a forge", Gilbert offered him stately, again playing the peacemaker between two raging egos. It was a role that seemed to suit his earnestness. "I'll commission volunteers to remake your armour for you... But this takes _time_, m'lord. Even I do not believe it wise for you to go into battle without armour with your injuries, for we have no spares available."

This much was true, and seeing the troops on their subsequent survey missions throughout the district, Destin knew that wear and tear was starting to take its toll now on all of the rebel's armour and weapons. Roshian temples gladly cured grievous wounds for the rebels, but could do nothing to repair damaged steel. Several of the swords and axes had started to spit sparks, and as Bors had been quick to inform him_, that_ was the first sign that a weapon was starting to wear out from hundreds of high-velocity impacts against enemy metal. Showers of sparks with every hit looked very dramatic and were often used by theatre groups, but an experienced soldier knew that such a blade would break soon.

"More than that", he concurred thoughtfully with the former Imperial. "We'll need a number of new sets, maybe a whole supply chain before long, the way the volunteers are pouring in. I'll dispatch your division back to Sharom, then. Find as many blacksmiths that are willing to help, and pay them anything that is reasonable. I doubt anyone will argue that most of our soldiers have seen enough battle by now to deserve knight armour, so focus on that instead of the soldier suits and swords."

"What about your vambrace, boss?", Blaine prodded curiously. "It's completely trashed... Just like the rest of you."

For a moment, Destin thought back to that hard shell of metal that had barred so many weapons from gouging his arm... And instead lifted the Mystic Mace for all to see. "_This _shall be my left-hand weapon now. If I cannot fight at the frontline, I can at least get used to wielding two weapons for the next battle. As to your question, Lans will be in command of the main force, Fubuki as his second."

The old knight nodded, refusing to dispute the samurai's reappointment. "One more dilemma, then. Those two spirits. Why do they continue to haunt us? I thought killing Kapella would free them from their anguish."

Despite how much some of the chiefs disliked the idea of having undead spirits around, Destin could not prevent himself from smiling at the memory of the two ghosts calling him 'frieeeeend'. "Both of us thought so. But they seem to wish to stick around this world and kill more Imperials. At least, that's what I could interpret. If they bother you so much, I'll keep them in my own division, transfer Sara out of it."

"We'd... prefer it", his subordinate murmured. "The men are unused to having such abominations in their ranks."

"Their _names_ are Inglesias and Halla", Destin maintained with a harsh edge now coming into his voice. "They were loyal Zenobians who are willing to help us beyond their own tragic deaths. I fail to see how they could be considered 'abominations'."

Uncomfortable silence held them for several moments, and Destin knew he had not heard the last of this. "Are we all to head out for Janneia now, then?", Liat asked.

The rebel leader shook his head, at once solemn. "Tomorrow. Tonight, we have other matters to attend to."

"Who?"

"Sir Elric Nangue. Lady Rebecca of house Tsalise. Robert Oujerne", Destin said dully as though reciting from a list, though he held no parchment. "Velardi and Clarissa Domenico. Seamus Frionel. Sister Julia. Tally McGrath..."

All of them recognized at least one of those names. Men and women under their command who had died at the battle of Vannu, or in Kapella's ambush, or even at the siege that had destroyed castle Goyas, their souls too far gone to ever be recovered by a Roshian Temple. Once their leader had finished the list- over a dozen fatalities- Warren regarded his pupil strangely. "You knew them all?"

"Not as well as I would have liked", he admitted with his head hung low. "Nonetheless, we shall grant them what respect they are due If this forest has taught me anything, it is that your afterlife will be determined by the respect and friendship of your comrades. They're _all_ heroes, every one of them. It would not be right to leave them to the crows. So we shall honour their names, cremate their bodies, and pray for their souls."

Bors looked the most moved by this little speech, and he took the leader's cold hands into his own gauntlet, clapping a heavy hand to his shoulder. "And should _ye_ ever fall, m'lord, we shall grant ye a burial worthy of Gran. That's my promise."

* * *

Following the meeting most of the men had cleared out, but Liat yet remained. He had not lost track of his old leader's new promotion in the thick of things, even while taking a moment to remember Clarissa Domenico, under his authority, being stabbed in the throat by an enemy ninja coming from the trees, going the same way as her brother. A short girl accompanying her older brother into war, she'd been too nervous and withdrawn to ever make a good soldier, but unlike Fubuki he still retained some appreciation in his heart for innocent folks who played at being warriors to defend their lands.

It was what humans did, no matter what country or race or how deadly the opposition. When living conditions plunged past a certain standard, a revolt was inevitable, and as long as that law of the universe remained constant Selec Fubuki's band would have work and pay.

Sure enough, his fellow samurai came walking into the conference hall, his armour partly restored by his own hand but still relying on his backup katana, judging by how the weapon held only a handful of kill-notches, but not enough to match the dozens of people Liat knew his boss had slain in their career together.

"You're back in command", he noted dryly. "Congratulations."

"Couldn't hold me back forever", Fubuki echoed under his face mask before sliding it up. "I just hope you haven't made _too_ much of a mess of things while I was gone."

"Hardy har", his comrade mocked, rolling his single eye. "So what now? He's not going to be with you at the Janneia battle. You going to kill Lans? That'll be fun to watch."

Fubuki glared back. "No."

"Oooh. You're going to put everyone to sleep with Siccus herbs once we take the castle, and lock Destin out, just like that Usar guy's trick. Good plan."

"No."

"You'll break off and strike at his division?"

Fubuki decked him. "No, dammit! Remember the teachings about the seven samurai of old? The _Shogun_? About how our kind are sworn to serve and protect a master we deem to be worthy? How I couldn't find a single decent lord in this entire miserable world?"

Liat frowned, not quite seeing where this was going. "Yeah. So?"

To his great shock, Selec Fubuki smiled. He _never_ smiled. "Well, after twenty years of massive disappointments, I've found my _Daimyo_. His name is Destin of house Naught."

Liat nearly fell over. "Him? A _Daimyo_? The tall blond kid with no last name and less than a month of battle experience? Good one, _shai-raa_."

But his true master waved a gloved hand, and for the first time Liat realized he was serious. "He's getting better all the time, Li. A lot faster than most of the slack-jawed idiots the Empire has running their territories. Give him another month to develop- assuming we're still alive then- and I bet he'll be able to kill someone without flinching. If not, I'll kill him myself."

"Just like last time", his comrade shot back, mocking. "What happened there, anyway? He couldn't possibly have beaten you, he's just a kid!"

"He... got lucky", Fubuki explained uncertainly. "He's always lucky. But more than that, he _never _quits. That point was driven home when I fought beside him at Pogrom and Goyas. Katana to the face and he keeps going. Kid takes a firewall spell to the face and he just keeps going. Hopelessly lost in the most haunted forest in the world, and he keeps going. He has two life-draining spooks come within an inch of dragging his soul to the world beyond this one, and one day of rest later _he keeps going_. Maybe that's his greatest strength- he doesn't die when he ought to. One month Li, one month and he'll be ready to face me in a proper duel. Just you watch. If that's the last of your objections, I have some training to do myself."

Staring past the other samurai, scarcely believing what he'd just heard from the most jaded, cynical warrior he'd ever met, Liat pinched himself once. "Well, fuck. Just who _is_ this kid? Where the hell did the old buzzard find him? Is he even human?"

Back turned, Fubuki stopped, considering. "The Sage has a connection with the Gods that goes further than most mortals. Could be he sculpted the kid from clay, brought him to life like a golem. Either way, my mind's made up. I saw him fight Kapella. Call it what you want. But for once in my stinkin' life, I _believe_. So long as he keeps up our payments... I'll follow that dumb greenhorn into the depths of the netherworld, and so will you. Just don't ever tell _him_ that, or-"

"Or you'll kill me. Nice and consistent. I like it."

His boss smiled beneath the face mask. "I thought you might."

* * *

Several days' march later, the district of the Lake Janneia district faced a renewed rebel invasion. Though they had to have known by now what was to happen, the Imperial forces there seemed comparatively disorganized, a handful of knights and beast tamers as acting superiors without an overall commander or any word from their governor. Whatever battle lines they were able to put up around the district's largest city of Antalya was crushed once the full weight of Lans, Bors, Fubuki, Warren and Blaine's divisions were brought down upon them, with Canopus' group running interference against a handful of enemy hawk men. Unlike his sworn brother, the veteran of the first rebellion held little mercy for Imperial soldiers regardless of nationality or race, and would not have made the offer for a surrender even if an enemy commander had come forth to speak with him.

In many ways for Lans Hamilton it was another throwback to old memories, to a battle long ago that had ruined his quest to avenge his lord and killed half his friends. _This time_, he promised vehemently to the sky, _this time, I will not fail. _

Of course, the Imperials had been far more numerous and skilled during that battle. These defenders on the other hand were mostly untrained, many local conscripts only now donning their soldier armour for the first time. While at first pity struck him for the youths among the enemy ranks, being forced to fight an army that was itself green but still more experienced than they, he could not discriminate. In any case, instructing the two mercenary leaders on his flanks to hold their divisions back would have soured their already shaky relationship into mutiny.

So it was with some sense of relief that he accepted a runner from Destin's group inviting him to a peace settlement with the governor himself, not in the castle but at an out-of-the-way settlement near the local Roshian temple. Greeting Destin's new second-in-command, the newly-minted Sir Harrison, at the city square of Kaiselly, he sat down next to Destin and waited for the governor to show himself.

Upon first seeing Sirius, Lans fought to avoid laughing- the Imperial governor was wearing a soldier's armour, the simple tin panels which were smaller and lighter but also far weaker than a knight's. _No wonder he wants a peace settlement. _Too, the governor certainly did not look the part of a soldier. A thin, cadaverous-looking sort of man, he was constantly shifting his head left and right to sense the wind, affecting an overly complacent image towards men he was supposed to view as his enemies.

"So you're the _rebel _forces, huh?", he murmured with a country accent like Tally McGrath's as his two bodyguards, also girded in bare soldier armour, sat down next to him. "I gotta say, you're even more impressive up close here. Real cool, yep yep. No wonder you guys killed Kapella and Gilbert."

"Governor Oblion isn't dead, actually", Destin interrupted, no more charmed by Sirius' smooth talk than Lans. "We gave him the offer to join us, and he accepted. We might be willing to do the same for you, sir Sirius."

The governor smiled. Unpleasantly. "Well now. That's a mighty fine offer there, yep yep. Can't just shake hands and call off my boys though. But maybe we might be able to settle something in the castle. Whatcha say?"

Anticipating a rude answer to the man's arrogance, Destin raised one hand to quiet Lans' mouth. "Anything which might save either side further bloodshed is worth a try, of course. But my friend here is no doubt concerned as to your sincerity. So I must ask; why exactly did you join up with the Empire to begin with?"

The governor palmed his helmet down, a deliberate gesture to block the way his smile was getting even creepier. "Well, that's a funny story, yep yep. You guys probably figure everyone in the Empire's a sack of crap, but there's lots of nice guys like me who are just doing our job here, ya know? Me and my boys, we joined up when the Empire killed the previous governor for failing to stop the first rebellion twelve years back. Figured it was better to have me as a friend than an enemy, since we were the biggest bandit group in Zenobia at the time."

"How can we trust you, then?", Lans queried venomously, spitting to the side of the table. "You are nothing but a brigand elevated by the Empire to municipal status."

Sirius raised both hands in defence, still trying to ingratiate himself. "Hey, hey! I'm not so bad, really. My guys might steal the occasional thing, but I keep 'em in line I do, yep yep. Better than having hard-ass Imperial troops around, right? My guys and I keep the peace in this district, and nobody bothers us. Really not so different from your band, eh captain?"

"I doubt he appreciates that comparison", Destin cut in, again stopping his friend from erupting in indignation. "But yes, a few simple burglaries could certainly be forgiven, so long as you agree not to do so in the future. If any of your men disagree, we'll simply let them go, and part ways. No hard feelings, eh?"

"Awesome!", Sirius remarked, looking excited towards Destin, shaking his hand with vigour. "We can make this a done deal then. Just come to the castle tonight and I'll finalize things, yep yep. Might take a while to get my guys to stop fighting, though. Just sayin'. "

"We'll fall back into a defensive line", Destin reasoned. "We won't attack them if they don't attack us, and I'll send a diplomatic party in tonight."

"Mighty fine of ya", Sirius repeated, sitting up. "Dunno what it is, but I'm always in a better mood at night. I'll see ya at dinner, friends!"

Waiting for the man to wave a cheerful goodbye and for his two men to follow him out, Destin leaned back in his chair and studied the blue flag they'd put up in the town. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

He locked eyes with Lans, for once completely serious. "Well, what do you think? Is he decieving us or not?"

The knight looked back at his old friend in honest confusion. "You are asking _me_? I'd never trust ANY bandit, no matter how friendly they may seem. This one, though...", his shiver could be seen even in his armour. "Something about him strikes me as off, and Gods know I do _not_ say that merely because he is a worthless bandit."

"Gave me much the same vibe", Destin agreed, at once a little sad that for all those kind words they might have to fight after all. No amount of similarity to his late subordinate's drawl could alleviate his danger senses. "A little bit TOO friendly. I pretended not to notice, but he kept looking at our necks when he was talking. Like he was a _vampyr_ or something."

"That cannot be", Lans reasoned, gesturing to the sky above. The fighting aside, it was a beautiful day. "I once was ordered by Gran to destroy a small clan of _vampyri_ nesting in the Pogrom Forest district. They cannot survive direct exposure to sunlight. Too, the _vampyri_ are far too pale and evil-looking to ever be mistaken for humans."

Destin, who himself remained as unnaturally pale-skinned as he had been upon escaping the Pogrom Forest alive, bared his incisor teeth like one of the legendary blood-suckers in jest. "Well whatever he is, I'd lay down Goth the diplomacy's a trap. I show up at the castle expecting peaceful negotiations, he jumps me with the remnants of his levies. Just like Kapella, he believes that killing me will cripple the entire rebellion."

"T'would not", Lans noted worriedly, always so concerned for the boy's security, "but t'would be a massive blow to morale, no question. At the very least the mercenaries would take their leave of us. So please, brother... _don't_."

His leader smirked in good spirits. As if he hadn't considered just how valuble his own life was to the rebellion. According to Warren's Arcana, without him they had no chance at all. "Okay. If you insist. Though, if we just clam up they'll know we called their bluff, so either way I have to play along with this. I'll wear knight's armour and I'll bring you and Fubuki, along with our respective divisions. Not the ghosts; they're too conspicuous. Should be enough, right?"

"Perhaps", Lans admitted slowly, his mind drifting on to other matters as he watched Destin's troops being put through their drills by a newly energetic Harrison. "You are_ certain _we can trust the mercenary?"

He heard Destin sigh in vexation. "Not this again. I told you before Lans, we need him. He'll behave. I'm sure of it."

"I should hope so. Gossip abounds of your duel during your excursion to Ba'Wahl... Why do you still trust him so?"

His leader winced. "So, that's finally out in the open, is it... Well. This might sound crazy to you Lans, but I _understand_ Fubuki. The cornerstone of his resentment towards me was the belief that I was a rookie leader who would die at the first sight of a difficult battle, hardly worthy of a warrior of his skill. Moreover, he helped me to prove something we've all come to realize- Destiny has my back. Whatever hold Death might have had over me was lessened further still when I was pushed to the brink of it, and brought back again."

The knight gaped. "Brother. I do not wish to contradict you, but I have witnessed many warriors before you claim they were invincible in much the same way. Not one of them are alive today."

"It's not that", Destin argued, looking back at the map of Zenobia as if already making battle plans for the future; pushes into Valparin Peaks and the lands surrounding the capital as well. "I'm not going to go jump off a cliff and expect 'Destiny' to save me anytime soon. No. No. It is a useful thing, my 'good fortune', but I would assume that if I push it, nothing the Gods can do will help."

"Good", the knight captain nodded grimly. "The graveyards are already filled with important men who thought themselves above Death."

"It's time", Destin announced, seeing the runner approaching the town square with only one possible message. "Come, my friend. Let us go have dinner with the governor. We mustn't be late."

* * *

The rebellion's trail was not difficult to follow. Though as many of their supporters had pointed out they brought their dead with them to be properly sent off, the same was not true for their enemies. A dozen dead knights and ninja littered the fields outside Chang'Ga as Ara Kestler made her way towards its front gates, only a small dagger for protection making her look like a pickpocket, disgust evident on her face.

Even the town itself seemed determined to irk her, for as she walked down the alley towards a particular forge, a chorus of cheers sounded from the square in direct contrast to her mood. Peeking out, she saw Gilbert Oblion standing among his people, looking humbled as ever yet with an unmistakable optimism about him, more cheerful than he had looked in many years.

_Well of course he's cheerful,_ she reasoned as the man allowed several passerby to play with one of the Wyrms which had brought him here, his presence ensuring they would not hurt anyone. _He's now revealed his true colours to the world, and joined with the rebellion. _Though Gilbert was known throughout Sharom as a fair and just governor, the fact of his Zenobian heritage left him under suspicion even twenty and four years after the fall of King Gran. Rumours around the upper command levels indicated this was why he'd never been allowed authority of the entirety of Sharom, forced to split the job between him and Usar, dividing the region into two smaller ones, both of which clearly showed the results of their governor's way. Ara had always wanted to meet Lord Oblion in person, but right now he was the enemy. Forcibly pulling herself from the aperture, she stalked back towards the forge where her contact was said to be.

The place was locked up with all the appearances of abandonment, a quadruple knock on the door revealed otherwise- a small portion at eye-level slid away, showing a pair of furtive brown eyes. "Number eight?"

"Only with strength can one endure suffering and torment", she replied quietly.

The portion slid back, but then there was the sound of a chain latch being fiddled with, then another one at waist-level. The fair-skinned man did not wait long for her to get through before closing it again and redoing the locks. "You were in the North Sharom forces", he observed, speaking in fluent Zeteginean once he was sure no one else would hear. "You lived through the rebel attack?"

"No", she said completely flat in the same tongue once they'd sat down. "I'm actually a ghost. I lived in Valna until governor Ferghus put out the call for all available warriors to report to Jindark, where I was placed under sir Bernard's command, an archer."

"Bernard is dead", the forger told her, equally stoic. "He was struck down not far from here, fighting under Gilbert until his defection. The only one of our men to be buried properly by the rebels. Sounds like a spy if you ask me."

"Never", she countered, placing her knife on the table. "He may have been Zenobian royal guard, but he knew where the true power in this world lies. The rebellion is but a momentary dream, and shall be shattered the moment our true forces arrive."

"Oh? Tell that to lord Kapella."

She spat on the table. "Stang. Kapella too? I can scarcely believe it."

"Believe it", the spy replied. "On that note, it's difficult to believe that you were able to escape the rebels' grasp."

Knowing what he meant of course, she proceeded to relate the tale of how she'd been taken prisoner and left in the Roshian temple, only leaving out the part where Destin's mercy had saved her from a boorish Zenobian knight. "I pretended to be unable to speak Zenobian. They assumed that I was too badly injured to function, and left me there."

The man scoffed, toying with the knife. "The rebellion is soft. They not only take prisoners, but leave them in temples to be healed, so that they may return and be fought again. Such impudence."

"I prefer to think of it as compassion, if misplaced", she returned. "I come to return to the Empire's service, this time under my true colours. Ara Kestler, valkyrie, 2nd _Einherjar_."

"You may be waiting a while, _Einherjar._" Seeing his accent, the way he handled the dagger and the forest green tunic hung up on a wall, she guessed he was one of Prochon's ninja "I've lost all contact with the regional head of the network in Sharom. Until we receive further orders from the capital, we're to function on our own, merely observing and maintaining our cover until we can act."

"Then I cannot tarry long", she said, disheartened. "Should they learn of my presence they'll become suspicious of my skin." _Show no hesitation..._

"I'll be abandoning this place soon anyway", he admitted soberly. "I have been masquerading as an easterling substitute for the true owner while he goes on vacation. In truth, I killed him. I plan to make my way to the capital, and join with the forces there."

"You could", she observed, remembering the ninja's talent for movement faster than most flying mounts. "But what am I to do?"

The man tilted his head, listening to the cheering outside drawing closer. "Hm. You said they left you at the temple without confirming your identity. Perhaps you'll get your chance to meet Lord Oblion up close after all."

Ara smiled.

* * *

The surviving protectors of the Janneia district remained understandably withdrawn as the rebel delegation marched across the bridge to the castle. Isolated upon that vast freshwater reserve, the bastion cast wide reflections upon the lake distorted by moonlight, a beautiful sight that reminded the three rebel chiefs that Janneia had once been viewed as a paradise of Zenobia before the rash of thievery and kidnapping that had made its cities places to steer clear of.

Their attention was not diverted overlong however, for the need to keep at least one eye on the restrained troops on both sides of the causeway, many of them visibly eager to avenge friends who had fallen in the previous skirmishes. Destin kept his head down for the most part, unwilling to meet their accusing eyes or offer contrition. _They made their choice_, he told himself again and again. _All of them chose to fight in the Empire's name, to put their lives on the line for their unjust cause. They knew they would lose friends if they chose to fight us._

It was not Sirius who greeted them at the castle gate, but a bald servant in dirty clothing and hides, bowing before them. "Welcome", the man said in halting tones that suggested Zenobian was not his native tongue. "Enter freely, and of your own will. Have a seat in the banquet hall and we shall be with you shortly."

Though the man's manner was sycophantic, the signs of his master's habits could not be concealed as they walked down the castle's corridors towards the banquet hall. Bloodstains mingled with the dust and there were signs of more than one scuffle having taken place. Most perturbing however was the occasional bone lying in the corridor. They weren't chicken or pig bones, as might be expected in castle Jindark. Despite all this, Destin and the men under him held their bile, and many were pleasantly surprised to see a proper feast waiting for them in castle Elsrum's wide, unkempt banquet hall. The table lacked in vegetables, beer, or indeed anything else besides well-glazed meat, but a feast nevertheless.

"Cozy", Jennifer commented while waiting for the rest of them to sit down. "Must be murder on the servants though."

"No less than Usar was", sir Tomas Neralai said. "We may as well take advantage of the bandit's lateness and-"

Destin reached out and snatched a roast platter from him. Already he felt the difference of the heavier knight's armour on his body, but did not falter. "No, Tomas. Not yet. Wait until we know the game before we wander into the trap."

The other knight looked offended but didn't pursue the issue further. "I don't suppose any of you have experience detecting Siccus herbs baked into meat?", he asked the hall.

Hearing the familiar name, Lans pushed up his visor, scrutinizing the food. "Gran's bones. You think they'd try the same trick as twelve years ago?"

"Something like that", Selec Fubuki observed cannily from another table. "The bandit lord didn't strike me as a terribly imaginative sort. Just take your seat and wait, Lancelot. Pretend we were being polite and waiting for him to arrive."

"Don't call me Lancelot, mercenary."

"Don't call me mercenary, Lancelot."

"Easy", Destin cut in, forcing them apart. "Let's save some of that for the actual fight, alright?"

"It is as I feared", Lans despaired quietly once they'd all been seated, tantalizingly good-looking food just out of reach. "Without you, sir Destin, none of our chiefs would be able to cooperate. We'd simply squabble like at the Roshian temple in Pogrom before each of us going our own way. You should not have risked this."

Staring at an array of sauteed meat he didn't recognize, Destin shook his head and gestured to the others, caught up in their own small talk with only the samurai chief remaining silent. "They're seeing that unlike Imperial leaders, I'm willing to put my own life on the line to do what must be done. We needn't mention my 'blessing'. In time, they'll figure it out for themselves, and believe our cause to be equally blessed."

The old knight thought that over some. "You do know how to win young men over", he admitted with an odd mixture of respect and uncertainty_. I only hope we'll never have cause to regret that fact._

Destin looked like he was about to respond to that, but stopped himself when he saw a quartet of maids approaching from the corridor to their left. Identically dressed in white lace and black gowns, they cut a strange figure around the table, not providing any service but simply walking to the back without moving their eyes towards the rebels at all.

Beside the chiefs, Tomas Neralai gasped and pointed. Emerging from the same corridor was a creature of a type Destin had never seen before. It appeared to be a one-headed variant of a Worgen, but bipedal and covered in shining silver fur rather than blue. Far larger than any knight or archer, the soldier's equipment it wore appeared almost comical, barely sufficient to cover one third of its frame. It raised its head to have a look at the crowd before it, and only then did Lans spot the glimmer of humanlike intelligence in its eyes.

"Hey-hey, friends!", Sirius' voice issued forth from the wolf-creature's mouth, though warped and distorted by a batallion's worth of teeth into something far more monstrous-sounding than Sirius' overbearing come-ons. "Don't spoil yourselves on my account, yep yep! Eat up! It's your last meal anyway, so I made sure it was extra nice!"

Only now permitting himself to digest how insulting the trap was, Destin stood from the table and beckoned the others to stand with him as he removed his concealing helmet. "I'm shocked, Sirius. Poison in the meat?"

As fierce as the creature looked, he was still able to pull his features into an approximation of indignance. "Poison? C'mon, now! Would I do that to a friend? Nope-nope, this is all pure cooked, one-hundred percent fresh human!"

"Oh", Destin replied dumbly, pretending not to notice the way several of his people were retching and falling over at the sight of the feast now. "Excuse us if we pass on that. None of us are feeling hungry right now. If it's okay with you, I'd prefer to drop this charade and get down to the killing here. So stop acting so friendly. We all know you're not here to negotiate peace."

The wolf-creature with Sirius' voice huffed loudly, which Destin took to be a werewolf's version of laughter. "Oh, but I AM, brother-man! I'd just rather not do that on an empty stomach, yep-yep. Anyways, I'm getting mighty tired of looking at you all. Dinner time!"

Everyone moved at once; the men closest to Destin drew their weapons only for four of them, including Lans, to cry out in pain with arrows in their backs fired by the four maids, none of them lethal but painful enough to keep them occupied while Sirius charged their leader, upending tables and chairs the whole way. Faster than the encumbered Destin could get his own weapon ready, the creature was upon him, grabbing his plated shoulder and about to take a bite when one of the knights instead shoulder-charged the beast, knocking him away with two arrows in his side from Jennifer as an afterthought.

Caught flat-footed, the rebels now divided into a group to slay the four enemy archers perched on the balconies and another group for Sirius without their leader saying a word. "You must take better care of yourself, m'lord", Tomas Neralai intoned in a rare moment of wit for one such as he, confident after saving Destin. "That abomination looks very hungry."

"He can have this, then", Destin seconded, kicking a plate of still-simmering meat towards Sirius as he was finally able to draw his blade and mace. Regardless of the hostility they'd had when they'd met, sir Tomas remained as dedicated as any of Lans' veteran knights. Seeing the flying plate, Sirius kicked the thing back to sender, taking another arrow in the thigh. None of the arrows seemed to bother him though, and he lunged back towards Lans with terrible speed and equal strength, lifting and tossing the knight like a rag doll. "Ain't a party without a food fight!", he screamed to no one. "Time for an appetizer!"

Hearing one of the enemy archers cry out turned into a lethal distraction- Sirius now vaulted off the table towards Destin again... Only to howl in pain as something vaguely blue and glowing zipped through a table to strike him. Looking to its source, Tomas and Destin saw Fubuki with an arrow in his back, knelt over as if struck by a far greater wound as he held his katana out before him in a strange arc. "The spiritual... technique of my order...", the man managed to whisper weakly. "The... Iainuki. Channels your own soul... into a blast of pure energy. Care... for another... Werewolf?"

Indeed, it appeared as though the strange flamelike attack the samurai had generated from his blade had actually done Sirius harm, for he'd lost his soldier's gear and several parts of his fur had been cut away, leaving bare flesh. This did little to slow him however, and only served to make him angrier. Inarticulate with animal fury, he again lunged for Destin's throat and again met the armour of Tomas, the momentum still taking them all the way across the hall to a far pillar. Before any of the rebels could move, or even shout a warning, he'd sunk his filthy black teeth into the man's shoulder, piercing armour and coming back with blood. "Tasty!"

With the distances involved and his speed, he might have been able to savage the man further, but now a second Iainuki sped towards him, blowing him clear from the body to where Lans and Harrison were waiting, one with his greatsword and the other with an axe of the same pearl-white tint as the Mystic Mace, though decorated with strange designs. "Meet the Rune Axe, abomination", Harrison Ordas said as he ripped the weapon into the creature's shoulder, searing its flesh while Lans keep its claws at bay. "A man in Kaiselly lent it to us, said it would be useful against innately-evil creatures. I fancy he was telling the truth."

_"Knew_ I should've cooked the meat first", the Werewolf grumbled from his spot on the floor. "Fine! I'll just have to grind you all to giblets!" With none of his speed lost, he vaulted back, pushing off with his arms and propelling his feet into the two men. With the same kind of claws on hands and feet, they were no less effective at shredding armour and cloth, and when he stood again both were pinned beneath him.

This was his final mistake. Harrison lashed out with the Rune axe again, leaving the creature's left leg a mangled wreck, while a third Iainuki sliced through the air to blast him against a wall. As a final touch, Lans caught the Mystic Mace, bringing it down onto Sirius' head. A loud crack rang out, and all was still.

"Foolish of me", Destin managed to say after the calm had passed, and everyone was certain that the werewolf was certainly dead, Lans spitting on the corpse he'd made. "Numbers wouldn't matter when the enemy chooses the terrain. Sara, see to Tomas' wound."

Meanwhile he would attend to the other member of their team who had collapsed from injuries. Foraging through the mess of the wrecked feast, he saw Fubuki rolled over on his side, breathing shallowly. He blinked in confusion. "Not the arrow?"

"No", Fubuki rasped, for once devoid of biting sarcasm. Being brought so close to death seemed to do that to anyone. "Using the _Iainuki _comes with a price. But I've paid it now. I'll live, kiddo. I'd worry more about that idiot over there."

Obeying in shock, Destin checked Tomas' own condition. Sara was bent over the knight's body, having removed his shoulder armour and gotten to work on tending to a set of nasty-looking black scars running from the top down to his midsection. He'd seen bloody wounds before now, but none of the ones he'd witnessed ever throbbed with a life of their own. Touching the flesh carefully, the cleric withdrew a handful of black slime and shook her head sorrowfully. "I will ask for Sister Yenda to come here, but I believe this will be beyond her ability to heal as well. These are cursed wounds, and much like a vampyr's bite it is not attacking his lifeforce, but rather, _changing_ him."

"Changing?" For once he was thankful that the knight was not awake to hear this.

"Yes, my lord. Into a creature either subservient to, or the equal of, the Werewolf." No longer able to hide it, she allowed a trace of fear to creep in. "To be safe, my lord, I would suggest we go about finding some restraints. Now. Immediately. I don't know how long it is before the transformation completes itself."

On cue, sir Neralai began to wail in unearthly pain.

* * *

Destin could tell the likely diagnosis of Tomas Neralai's condition from the moment he met the eyes of the man he'd set to guard the castle infirmary. Lans had come to visit his old comrade of course, as had Warren Moon. Now it was his turn, regardless of how a piece of his mind screamed at him to flee.

_It's daybreak_, he reminded himself sternly. _Sirius only became a werewolf at night. _Either way, he had to know the truth. Dull-witted he might have been, and prejudiced against all Imperials as the worst of Lans' survivors from the first rebellion, sir Neralai yet deserved his leader's attendance now, in the hour that might determine his future in the current one.

He pried the door open and met Sister Yenda's own dismissal of all hope without comment. Sir Neralai now lay prone on the guest quarters' bed, awoken with only the occasional cry. Outside his protective armour he looked as if a stranger, a hundred times more vulnerable physically and mentally. Trying to put aside his private disdain for the knight's temperament, he approached the bed in silence before placing one hand to calm the man's thrashing arms.

"It's done, now, sir Neralai", he placated the man carefully. "The wound will trouble you no more."

"Kill me then, lord", the man demanded, still retaining an air of hostility towards everyone in the infirmary. "No, don't deny it- I know what the healers whisper to each other, thinking that I cannot hear. I've become a monster, sir Destin. Kill me now, and let my soul be at peace."

Destin dared not move a muscle, once again trusting to the Gods to guide his tongue. In truth, he had become tired of such speeches as of late, and the feeling that he was not truly the one making them "Yet you retain your mind and body. Lans has always led me to believe that it would take more than an unnatural wound to defeat a true man of Zenobia. I ask: Are you still he?"

He winced in pain as sir Neralai bit down on the outstretched hand, resulting in a small but messy gash, dripping blood. "Only in the day am I but the slightest impression of the man I was", the man claimed, a wild light in his eyes. "At night, I am to become a savage beast. I could not trust myself not to feast upon our own people, or worse, on innocents."

Neralai sniffed the air, a reflex unknown to humans. "Already, I feel the _hunger_... There's more _meat_ in the pantry downstairs. It's made from the young, virtuous daughters of Kaiselly. I smell it, sir Destin. It calls to me, and a part of me wishes to feast upon it."

The gash was nothing. Much like the words of persuasion, a tolerance for pain was something he was rapidly becoming accustomed to, and unlike the former he remained willing to take as much pain as needed to succeed in the final goal, no matter what lies Kapella Radigan had spewed. "You heard Sirius speak as well as I did, my friend. He remained in full control of himself, even at night. Whatever his history as a human, he _chose_ to embrace that savage, vile part of his nature. _You_ do not have to make his choice- do you not possess a will stronger than that of a mere bandit?"

The infected man tried to turn away, but Destin simply walked around to the other side and decked him. "Well? Do you?"

"I do", Neralai snarled back, no less fearsome than he had been as a full human despite his growing anger.

"And you do not wish to have this curse remove you from the battlefield?"

Tomas spat. "Of course not. But-"

"Then use this weapon you've been given, sir Neralai. You fought Sirius. You now know how fast and mighty werewolves are at night. Even with Fubuki's technique he left a mark on many of us. _Use_ that mark, and make the people who put him in power pay."

Neralai stopped, his wrath defused by a momentary confusion. A chuckle. "Mayhap a curse has struck you as well, sir? Whatever happened to the young lad who stopped me from executing a Zeteginean _kree'ath_ as she deserved?"

Recognizing a loaded question, he instead eyed the rafters for more signs of its former master's depravity. "Two wholly different cases, sir Neralai. The folk of Kaiselly and Antalya didn't lie about what lay in this castle; Sirius and his men demanded more than their valuables, but a monthly tribute of living flesh. Sons, wives, daughters... There were dogs here, too. Sirius fed them the meat daily. Nary an hour ago, we had no choice but to put them down, lest they run wild without their master and attack the townsfolk. An arrow through each of their hearts, as painless as we could make it. So _no_, sir Neralai, I am _not _in the most compassionate of moods right now. Would that I could slay Sirius personally for all the harm he's caused, instead of Lans."

"And yet you refuse to put _me_ down."

Destin sighed. For once, he understood how Warren felt towards his own blunders in judgement. "Because you have not yet harmed us or any innocents. I grant you my solemn word that should that happen, should you ever lose control against your new self at night, then indeed we shall release you... But that may not happen. It may never happen, if your will is strong Sir Tomas ap Neralai does not have to die tonight."

Sir Neralai inclined his head into the pillow, staring hard at the bleeding gash he'd made in his leader's arm. "Then I shan't. But remember your word, sir. I shall be with you for the next battle."

Destin's first instinct was an arrogant dismissal of such a threat, perhaps a reminder that he had no shortage of other veterans in the rebellion who were watching him from afar, gauging his strength, even planning to take his place by force the moment he faltered. Sir Tomas Neralai was not such a man. Whatever changes the werewolf's bite wrought in him, he remained unchangeably human in spirit, and thus would not betray while his own mind retained the slightest shred of sanity. At least, this was what he believed. Nodding, he stood and left, passing by a surprised Yulia Walf in the halls to meet with one of those chiefs he had genuine reason to fear.

"A dead man", he observed simply, regarding Blaine Diwrnach and several of his troops with a repressed fury that no one in the castle's banquet hall could fail to notice. With several clerics volunteering to give the place a basic cleaning, the hall was one of the few places where an acid-burned corpse did not seem out of place or grotesque. "A leftover 'snack'? Someone who wasn't fighting back? Someone who was just in the way?"

"None of the above", the doll magi shot back, for once careful to avoid making his usual jokes at their leader's expense, or jokes period. Blaine's capriciousness towards the lives of anyone but himself was even better-known than Lans' prejudices. That he would 'accidentally' slay a bystander came as little surprise. "I met him at Krasno Dale. The swamp village."

_That's right. I sent you there after the battle to try and track down Sirius' leftover men. Is this...?_

"I stopped in for a drink. This guy comes up to me, making sure I'm alone. He offers me one million Goth for my division to betray the rebellion to _Deneb the Witch_. Two more if I manage to kill you."

Three million Goth. A fortune, enough to purchase one's own island retreat, or a small castle's construction and acres of land. The rebellion's entire coffer currently held less than a tenth of that amount thanks to repeated payments to the mercenaries and the purchase of essential supplies. Even a small army such as this one demanded a large upkeep. "You refused, obviously." He was surprised.

Blaine grinned grimly. The horrible-smelling acid burns from within the man's lungs could only have come from a practitioner of Karma magic. "I refused. Showed that worthless _pes'shyk_ what I thought of him and his whore."

"That's fine, but I wish you hadn't killed him-"

As expected, the mercenary leader immediately rose to that reprimand, no longer stroking the doll with which he worked his enchantments but staring daggers into the younger man. "Do _not _go telling me that would be the 'moral' thing to do now. Ye Gods, I'm past sick of everyone acting like I'm the bad guy here. We're all on the same side, aren't we?"

"-What I meant was, we could have taken him, interrogated him, gotten information about the arrangement and composition of Deneb's forces. Even better, gone along with the trap and set one of our own."

Blaine stopped. "Oh. Well anyway, I doubt they'd be that easy to fool, or that you'd trust me that far in a situation like that. I _am_ a soldier of fortune, after all."

But Destin smirked. "Then why did you not take him up on his offer? One million Goth is a great deal more than you will make in a year of service here."

The Magi looked down into his doll's button eyes, resuming his usual habit of playing with it while speaking with others to make them less comfortable, assuming his words did not accomplish that already. "Because if I did, then the game would come to an end. And it's just getting interesting, wouldn't you agree?"

* * *

M's Note: *Gasps* The peoplez! They came! Glad to see some people are enjoying this story, and I'll be quick to finish the next few chapters in return.

Humble Novice: I see you like Endora. This is my first time trying to depict a character slowly descending into insanity as time goes by, so it'll be interesting to see how that works out with her future scenes.


	9. Glass Pumpkin

**Glass Pumpkin**

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* * *

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**Tarot VI - Lovers**

_The Fool comes to a crossroads, filled with energy, confidence and purpose, knowing exactly where he wants to go and what he wants to do. But he comes to a dead stop- a flowering tree marks the path he wants to take, the one he has been planning on taking. But standing before a fruit tree marking the other path is a woman. He's met and had relationships with women before, some far more beautiful and alluring. But she is different. Seeing her, he feels as though he's just been shot in the heart with cupid's arrow, so shocking, so painful is his "recognition" of her. As he speaks with her, the feeling intensifies; like finding a missing part of himself, a part he's been searching for his life long. It is clear that she feels the same about him. They finish each others sentences, think the same thoughts. It is as if an Angel above had introduced their souls to each other. Though it was his plan to follow the path of the flowering tree, and though it will cause some trouble for him to bring this woman with him, to go somewhere else entirely, the Fool knows he dare not leave her behind. Like the fruit tree, she will fulfill him. No matter how divergent from his original intent, she is his future. He chooses her, and together they head down a whole new road._

_

* * *

_

As one might expect by the original name, Valparin Peaks, known today as Deneb's Garden, lay divided into parcels by large stretches of pristine mountain range. Though none of them approached the impossible heights reported in the stories of far-off realms such as Denueve or Kali, they remained enough to hamper the passage of most divisions from city to city and made it all but impossible to form a battle line outside those cities. Outside of that, the land had a conspicously serene calmness about it that made the army's wizards mutter among themselves. Nowhere else in Zenobia had such active or exotic plant life. It was unnatural.

Twice burned now, Destin questioned both Lans and Fubuki, who had spent more time in this region than any of the chiefs, closely before developing a crude solution to the problem. "Whatever allies Deneb has aquired will have to be capable of flight, or of quick travel through mountains, or else risk being as hampered as we are", he reasoned to them in the rebel campsite, waiting for confirmation. "Two teams. One composed of all our flying and mountain-capable fighters to strike the killing blow, the other to draw out the army by seizing Deneb's outlying cities."

Noting that this division left Destin out of the final battle for once, Fubuki regarded his _Daimyo_ with genuine concern. "I've read the reports. The witch cares nothing for the people under her jurisdiction, only for her own research like Kapella before her. What if she does not take the bait?"

"She will", the rebel leader assured him. "Deneb has spent years abducting healthy young men, taking the garden's herbs... and pumpkins, for some odd reason, from those cities. Without a ready supply of those things, her research grinds to a halt. If the army indeed appears to be too powerful, I only ask you to fall back and leave a scout there to watch them. Strike from the east, where the mountains are thickest."

"And who will compose this strike force?", Lans asked uncertainly. "You cannot expect Gilbert and the Wind Rider alone to win this battle."

"They shan't. Fubuki's people are experts in traversing mountain ranges, and Warren's pets are also capable. I've already transferred several of his acolytes to your group for the time being so that they shall not slow their travel, and I'm placing Halla and Inglesias under Warren's command, assuming they'll listen to someone other than me. Canopus and Gilbert's people act as spotters as usual. That way, even if they march east 'round the horn, you can avoid them and strike at Valparin castle, though I grant sir Gilbert the final authority in this strike force, just as I grant him the Rune Axe for the trip."

Hearing this, Fubuki offered one of his rare smiles beneath his face mask. "You aren't miffed about missing out on Deneb, my lord? I hear she's a true beauty, so much that some men are willing to work under her despite her crimes."

Destin stared back awkwardly. He had not expected such reverence from the man who had tried to kill him more than a week ago. "We're only here to bring her to justice, _shai-raa_, not ogle her. But if you feel that her beauty will affect your efficiency, by all means say so and I shall transfer you."

Everyone present had a good laugh at that, but Fubuki scowled. "Do not call me that, lord. That honorific is reserved for those of my Order."

He frowned. "But Blaine-"

"-Does it to irritate me. Which is one of several reasons why I dislike him."

_Well aren't we the happy little band of murderers. Small wonder the samurai has no friends here. _"Fair enough. I am sorry. And don't worry, he's going to be hanging back with the main force with Bors, Lans, and my own people. Strike hard and fast, and do not allow beauty to dull your blades. That will be all, gentlemen."

* * *

Since before the time of Empire, before the time of Gran or even the Order of Roshian who now considered it to be their unofficial 'home', the mystic isle of Avalon had been an object of many stories and myths, every bit as legendary a land as Zenobia.

The currents of magic ran very strong here, perhaps stronger than anywhere else in this part of the world, attracting all manner of creature to it long before humans had set foot there. Dragons were the most prevalent, and while not exactly hostile they had eventually come to dominate Avalon and claim it as their own for upwards of 700 years if the few of them who still remembered those days with clarity were to be believed. The mishmash of terrain had been perfect for all broods of the Dragonkin, ranging from lively volcanoes massed at the center for the Red brood to murky marshes closer to the shores for the Black brood. For a long time, they had been content.

Yet all good things must come to an end. Humans had come to Avalon, intent on colonizing it for its ideal position to the massive reserves of fish in Kasolat, to say nothing of the ethereal beauty the early settlers were entranced by but cared nothing for the reason why the circular isle was that way to begin with. Logging operations had kicked off in the southern forests before long, and so the Dragonkin were forced to make the choice between war, or abandoning their ancestral home to the new species sprouting up everywhere like weeds.

The Black brood, of course, had advocated the former course. Ashen scales an eternal reflection of their natural temperament, their leader would never allow any of his people to be pushed around by any being weaker than they. In the time of Avalon, that meant no species would ever take priority over Dragons. At the opposite end stood the Silver brood, who decreed that since Dragons capable of living anywhere that humans were _not_, there yet remained hundreds of long-lost islands which could become their new home.

But the decisive party had been the Red brood, ever passionate about all things of beauty or strength. Regardless of which decision was made, the current head of the brood had reasoned, Avalon would pay the price. As would its kin, for as the debate escalated the long-standing rivalry between Silvers and Blacks had become all the more apparent: Either decision would fragment the Dragonkin forevermore.

In the end, the Red leader had chosen the less-destructive option, to abandon the isle to the Order of Roshian. The bulk of the Red and Silver broods had thus departed to find a new home out on the ocean, while the disgruntled Black brood had journeyed south with a handful of hangers-on from their kin to attempt an equivalent trade- a human land which they would purge and make into a paradise for the Dragonkin. No word had passed between that schism since that day.

All of this was ancient history to sir Galahad. Though Avalon retained its high quotient of ley lines and the unearthly beauty which drew so many to reside upon a volcanic isle despite the risks, like all things magical in this world its power was gradually fading away. For more than a century, no other species had proven powerful enough to dislodge the Order of Roshian from this paradise.

Until now.

Now, Galahad ran and stumbled over rocks and bushes in his armour, for once ignorant of their strange ennui and calm in his haste to make it to the forest up ahead. Just behind him, the rest of his comrades were in equal distress and frenzy, and one might easily mistake them for common soldiers, rather than the very best of the Order's Paladins.

There was sir Druidan, the eldest of them and yet the only one lacking in facial hair, or any hair at all. Loyal to a fault, he had worked up through the ranks years at a time between them, and now had little else to live for following the execution of his family. The exception to this would be his cousin, sir Barcelone, who sufficed for the other end of the age spectrum. True to form, Barcelone possessed a great deal of energy more than his comrades, and bent much of that towards pranks or trying to lighten up a dark moment. Now, however, he was wordless and panicked as the rest of them, fleeing towards the safety of the forest with strength in each step despite his armour.

Beside him ran sir Fabian, a child of aristocrats who nonetheless had worked to earn his golden armour just as much as the rest of them. Galahad would never admit it, but between Fabian's constant need to practice swordplay and his natural talent, he was likely the most skilled of the surviving Paladins under the Order. Certainly the best of this group, for their final member had never touched a sword, or anything that could be considered a weapon besides her opulent staff.

Despite this, she remained the most important member of the group. The Grand Monk Forris' body did not hold up well against the constant need to run. Her hair bore streaks of gray in it which she never hid with dye considering it an insult to the young, but her kindly face and manner would always be an inspiration to all the people of Avalon. Druidan had said so in jest, but he had been closer to the truth than he knew when he claimed Forris to be the single spark which kept Avalon's defenders going through years of strife. Insults never passed from the head of the Order's narrow lips, and in 39 years of life Galahad had never met a more altruistic woman than this one.

Unfortunately, their enemies had been quick to catch onto this simple fact. Hunching over to regain his breath, Galahad craned his head about the trees that now concealed them, relief and exhaustion sharing each ragged gasp equally. Another close call for the Grand Monk- closer than any other in recent memory, even- but they had done it. Forris was safe and sound, and the army of valkyries and flying creatures the Empire had brought down upon the modest city of Taljin were no doubt wondering where their prey had disappeared to.

"Thank the Gods for the Fairies", sir Barcelone rasped, equally tired as he sloughed off his shield and sword. "They'll never track us now."

"Do not tempt fate, cousin", Druidan commented behind him. "Here on Avalon, nothing is ever certain. How now then, milady?"

Forris froze up, not in indecision but simple contemplation. "I only wish they might understand", she mused aloud. "We desire no conflict here."

" Not us", Fabian growled, the least worn of them but also bearing lingering outrage towards the Imperials. "Them. No matter where we fled to, the bastards wouldn't leave the Order be. We're far too _good_ for Zenobia to let live. Sometimes, I wonder how many times their Empress had a house fall on her."

"T'would be four", Barcelone cracked, having regained his energy and with it his wit. Seeing Galahad looking at him, he shrugged. "They do everything in fours."

"Enough", Forris admonished the men. "Our people will no doubt be anxious for news of our escape. We must journey to Tomayang, my children, and spread the word."

"Awfully close to the Imperial garrison at Amad", Galahad noted, anxious at marching towards what was surely the biggest concentration of enemy forces on Avalon. Seeing the Grand Monk's eyes, he quickly rethought his approach. "Of course, we'll do whatever it takes to protect you milady."

"Whatever it takes to stop them from discovering the hidden temple", Forris extrapolated. "With the ash clouds dissipated, that is more of a risk than ever before."

She spoke of the temple Galahad and Fabian had been raised in, built after all the others on the isle had been burned down by the Empire, and he was grateful for that measure. Privately, he wondered how much of that decision was affected by the presence of Forris' dear daughter Aisha, now an accomplished Cleric in her own right despite her short temper and a sometimes disconcerting lack of faith in the Twenty-Two.

"We'll wait until nightfall", Druidan advised at the sight of the afternoon sun. "We should be able to make it under the under of darkness, regardless of how many of the fishwives are creeping around."

Forris paused. "No, we can't", she said, at once sorrowful for the blood she knew was to be shed regardless of allegiance, too upset even to reprimand the old Paladin for such an insulting epithet towards the merfolk "We are being hunted."

Fabian's eyes went wide. "They found us? After all that? How?"

She turned and regarded him serenely. "One of them stayed in the sky, pursued us across the volcano."

Galahad breathed out his panic. "Only one, plus her mount. We can handle it."

"It's a he. And no. No, you can't."

Avalon still had its characteristic sense of timing. As Forris' pronouncement of doom resonated, a long shadow crept over the trees. A Black Dragon screeched and an impossibly heavy _thump_ announced their executioner's arrival before his voice made it clear he knew who and where they were even from this distance.

"Men of Roshian", a low, emotionless voice belted out at them from all directions. "You have gambled, and lost. I know you've got the High Monk with you. Send her out now, and I promise we'll put your bodies to creative use."

The four defenders of Roshian each felt the other's terror at the sound of that voice. They had spent too long fighting its owner to ever forget the pride and cruelty in it. None dared speak, for their reply would likely be caught by the trees. At least, Galahad told himself that was the reason.

The voice came again, this time bearing a hint of wry amusement and sounding all the worse for it. "Come now. You cannot seriously be thinking of trying to resist me. I am GARES! The Black Knight! The Crown-Prince of Zeteginea! A _hundred_ men working in concert could not kill me, but I've killed men by the_ thousands_! Be sensible, and send that damned woman out here. It's the only way any of you will live to see the next sunrise."

"Head down, cousin", Galahad heard Druidan advice Barcelone, trying in vain to relieve his tension. "We'll answer him soon enough. What's the plan, sir?"

Then Galahad remembered that he was technically the leader of this little escort group. Throwing aside the lurking fear he thought he'd conquered back when he became Paladin, he regarded each of his bretheren closely. "Let him come to us", he whispered, "I know this looks bad… But what, I ask, if we win? There are four of us and one of him. His death would be as demoralizing to the Empire as Forris' death would be to the Order! With the rebellion in the south, it might drive away the Imperial soldiers, leaving only the fishwives to oppose us. Think, my brothers! _This_ could be the pivotal battle of this campaign. In fact, I _know_ it must be. Let him exhaust himself trying to draw us out. It will not work."

"I'm with that", Fabian seconded with a satisfied grin. "Always wanted to see how I'd stack up against the best."

"I suppose we have no choice", Druidan commented without as much bravado, but ever-willing to back up his friends in battle. "He's got his dragon spotting for him. Wherever we break, he'll be there."

"We'll do it", Barcelone managed to utter, not as successful as the rest as throwing off the soul-piercing fear Gares Endora liked to put into his enemies before fighting them. Forris drew close and stroked his shoulder soothingly. "We'll get him down, and then we'll win, and then, and then, we'll-"

"That was your final warning, fools", the Black Knight's metallic voice returned at what seemed twice its previous volume. "Make your final peace with your pathetic Gods, for now you stare into the true face of evil."

The Black Knight's voice stopped there, but his game of intimidation had only begun. Footfalls began ringing the ground beneath them, heavy as dragons but rhythmic enough to inure the mind to them as they steadily grew in volume.

On the third minute of this, sir Barcelone could take no more. Screaming in defiant rage and fear, the young Paladin cleared his blade and ran towards the thumping sound with all speed. Cursing the man's impetuousness, Fabian stepped forward to stop him.

Something else stopped him first. A dark shape, dragon-sized and coated in malevolent spikes and horns, steel implements of death, interrupting the rhythm to crash down upon Barcelone from above, holding a wide axe with a handle taller again than he was. The blade struck sir Barcelone at the top of his helmet, and though he was no doubt dead the moment his skull was split, the axe's momentum let it's handler continue shearing down all the way to the Paladin's pelvis before stopping.

The Black Knight Gares offered the three no verbal taunts now, only a dispassionate gaze from the thin slit of his helmet. Again working to throw off the fear which had driven Barcelone mad, the paladins of Avalon yelled and charged as one.

The great axe in Gares' right gauntlet was waiting for them. Striking back with incredible speed for one so large and powerful, he clanged the colossal weapon against Druidan's shield while blocking Fabian with his left.

The first thing that struck Galahad was his memories of fighting Hill Giants. Those wild, unkempt-looking creatures relied on their great height and strength to bully humans or other shorter beings out of the valleys or caverns they always wished to make their home, and they were never satisfied with any such home for very long before going somewhere else to take someone else's home away for fun. How they managed to avoid extinction he had no idea, particularly since most humans achieving knight or paladin level knew how to make the creature's lack of intelligence or speed work against them.

Gares might have had the size and strength of one, but he was no giant. No giant moved that fast, or wielded a weapon his own height. Even as he threw Fabian back, he jerked the weapon to send Druidan's own blade flying into the trees. Taking over, Galahad opened with a combination of high-low slashes drilled into him since he was old enough to hold a sword, not enough to defeat or even injure the massive hunk of black steel but to distract him while Fabian came around for another shot. Ten seconds.

The Black Knight swung, bypassing Galahad's shield to strike his sword and yield a tremendous cloud of sparks. _Have to kill him soon_, Galahad noted, gritting his teeth in dismay, _or all our weapons break. _Trying to take the man in the chest, his own strike bounced off, nonetheless prompting the Black Knight to leap over Galahad and slash the approaching Fabian, cleaving his shield with a mighty overhead blow and apparently breaking an arm bone or two by the way the man screamed. Ignoring it, Gares pressed on the man's unguarded side, only stopped by a frantic block by Fabian's blade. This rising blow became an overhead handle block against Galahad's jumping slash from behind.

He lost track of the next handful of seconds, but for the pain of feeling one's ribs crushed by a spinning axe strike in midair, blunted by armour but only just. Galahad felt his spine cry out from striking a tree at the end of it, and could only hear Druidan's own grief as the Black Knight kicked Fabian aside to again prevent their eldest member from recovering his weapon. Two fast chops shredded his shield and a third one took his head and shining helmet clean off.

Galahad blinked back tears, scarcely believing what he'd seen from his position against the tree. First, that tough old Druidan could be killed at all after sixty summers of life, and secondly that it could be done so quickly. It felt like sacriliege. Sir Fabian had not even had the time to cover half the distance between before the blow fell, and so what was meant to be a supportive gesture became a barrage of wild slashes intended to avenge that death.

Yet it was here that a small spot of hope warmed Galahad's dismayed soul; sir Fabian knew his craft better than he knew his own skin. He'd practiced all his life, submitted his soul to the justice of the Court of Swords more than once. What appeared to be a crazed charge was actually well-coordinated, and over the course of five seconds a dozen separate times the Black Knight's axe and the paladin's sword deflected off each other with loud crashing noises that left both weapons spitting sparks. As if sensing the rising hope in his comrade, Fabian dodged a kick and finally pierced the Black Knight's chest plating, eliciting a muffled grunt from Gares, driving him back.

That was as much headway as he would be allowed- tensing up in rare moment of concern for his life, the Highland prince swung downwards in a wide arc to force his foe to get clear, putting some distance between them before raising his axe to the air. Glinting in the muffled sun, the weapon gave no sign of an attack until a new source of light had made itself apparent beneath Fabian. What little Galahad could make of it before the strange symbol flared into sickly yellow incandesence spoke of Arcana magic, concentrated within the axe and unleashed directly at the target. And Gods knew how sir Fabian did scream before his soul was blasted out of this plane of existence.

Galahad slumped, able to stand again but not seeing any reason to. Forty seconds. That was all it had taken for three paladins he'd called his brothers to be slain, with the last and best of these bursting apart from within in a manner that reminded him of an overcooked ear of corn. Only the desire to avenge this, to enact some form of justice on this metal-clad Ogre, got the man to his feet for one last attempt.

And so Prince Gares laughed, harsh and metallic and cruel behind his enclosed helmet. That laughter spread through the forest to frighten the local animals from their once-peaceful homes, so that twenty seconds of combat after, when sir Galahad at last felt an axe cleaving bone and flesh to send his soul to the realm beyond this one, there remained but one witness.

* * *

Days of marching came and went without further incident. Once the rebel army had split itself into two portions, the part headed by Destin had ample time to liberate and settle themselves among the various farming villages and trade cities of Deneb's Garden before any real resistance made itself apparent. A dozen hours dragged by at a slow enough pace that many of the rebels confessed to boredom. A new 'obstacle', to be sure. Things changed. Never had they been ordered to sit around and wait while their comrades fought.

"Right here", one of the local farmers said, gesturing across a wide plowed field after Destin had expressed interest as a way to pass the time. It was a habit he decided any leader of men would be wise to get into. "My entire crop, stolen right off the field. I tried to stop them, but they just pushed me aside, and I dared not resist further when they held weapons and we held naught but farming implements."

The rebel leader looked closely, now making out rows of small holes where he presumed vegetables had once been growing. "Why pumpkins?"

The farmer from Baljib scoffed bitterly. "You expect logic and reason from that wench? She probably did it just to mess with our heads. She's a scourge on this land I tell you, lord. Ever since she arrived here, the marshlands at the base of the mountains have slowly spread. We've no proof, but who else would benefit from having a larger crop of the herbs that grow in those blasted swamps?"

True to his word, many of the marshes running along the mountains seemed unusually large despite having little in the way of rivers to feed them, every single one dwarfing the swamp he'd passed through during the journey to the refugee city of Ba'Wahl. None were exactly stagnant, but not one pleasant to behold. The rebels stayed clear of them.

The attack came late in the evening. Small groups of mountain-capable wild men, archers and tamed animals combining into a poorly-organized legion, but it was not until seeing the enemy commander arriving at the line that Lans and Bors took it seriously.

For one, the mere fact that Deneb had thought to choose a commanding officer elevated her above the tactical prowess of her compatriots. For two, the officer's black cloak, fangs, and deathly pale skin clearly denoted him as the creature they'd initially suspected Sirius to be. One of the vile undead known as _'vampyr' _even to those who had only heard the knights tell stories of them. "That was why they took so long", Destin concluded to anyone who would listen, cursing his lethargy and his borrowed knight's armour weighing him down. "They were waiting for nightfall."

"Not necessarily, m'lord", Bors offered. "I just got word from Blaine an' Yenda that there's another attack goin' on far south of us. Different commander too; a young lady named Cassandra who's said to be Deneb's number one apprentice.

"One to lead in the daytime, and one for night", Lans observed, watching the vampire identified as Letishe closely. "T'would be a difficult journey for them, I think... Ah. _There_'s the coffin."

Destin blinked in confusion. "Coffin?"

Lans nodded, indicating a rectangular wooden shell in the enemy army's keeping about twice the size of a man. "The only way for vampires to travel in the daytime. They reside within heavily-armoured vessels that their servants must carry, otherwise, they'd be unable to cover ground in the day."

"Y'know I heard a story around here about an exception to that", Harrison Ordas piped up beside him, more outspoken now that he'd been made a second-in-command in Destin's unit. Bizarre rumours seemed to be his forte, true or not. "Some new breed of vampire in Malano that _sparkled_ in the sun instead of crumbling to dust. Turned out to be just a family of humans putting varnish on their skin and pretending."

"Those fools", Lans derided angrily. "_Vampyri_ are no joking matter, take it from me. They're at least as fast and strong as werewolves. They can fly like Canopus' people, and they continue to fight long after any mortal would be dead from blood loss. We should be grateful there's only one of them to cut to pieces tonight."

Digesting the dire threat presented by the enemy commander, Destin sized up the rest of them by the light of their torches on the hilltop some distance away. Worgen, wizards, pirates and archers combined to form a strange mixed force, and another Golem could be seen lumbering about towards the rear. "Someone go fetch sir Neralai", he commanded. "He should be transformed by now. A proper match for sir Letishe, no?"

Of course both the knight commanders turned away at that. Neither approved of keeping the werewolf on, just as they did not accommodate the presence of ghosts in the army. Destin could care less; if Lans were to have his way, they'd expel all the non-humans, possibly even all the women, in the name of protecting them. Small wonder he'd been defeated in the first rebellion with an outlook like that.

While sir Neralai subscribed to a similar theory, nothing in his posture spoke of a reluctance to fight, even as several of the others flinched away from the sight of his freshly transformed state. Sir Neralai had opted to use one of the rebellion's last remaining sets of soldier armour in lieu of his own, knowing that the heavier suit would be destroyed by his changes. The fur and fangs about him did not seem quite as mighty as Sirius, but that may have been because he was an ally, not an enemy. Formidable and just a little scary, regardless. "You wanted me", Tomas growled, sounding more and more animal than human despite attempts to be civilized. "Here I am."

Destin nodded. "You've seen the enemy commander, then?"

He bared yellowed fangs towards the hilltop. "I have. A _vampyr_. He'll be a difficult one to beat."

"Not for you. Charge him when we start; I'll have the acolytes cover you with some spells and assign Sara to heal you. Take him down, and the rest will scatter. Simple. What news of Blaine's group?"

"They hold their own, my lord", a runner said from a safe distance away from Neralai. "Cassandra used some kind of light spell earlier to blind some of sir Diwrnach's men, but Sister Yenda took care of it."

"Good. Keep me updated." He failed to mention the fact that the nervous-looking runner would have to find him in the middle of a bloodbath to do so, but no one protested. _No putting it off any longer. Gods help us._ Striding up to the front line of knights, he watched as Letishe did the same with his own bunch. The vampire looked eager to go, not offering a chance to avoid battle or any communications at all beyond staring longingly at Destin's bare neck with red eyes. The pale skin both leaders shared only distracted for a moment, for any man could yet recognize which of these two fighters was more human.

More out of routine than any belief it would help, Destin held out his sword in the cross-guard 'parlay' position that Bernard had taught him. "I don't suppose we can convince you to take your people and leave? There's better blood to be had in the Empire."

Letishe chuckled, unusually well-built for his kind, and possessed of a voice more eloquent than Sirius or Tomas Neralai's werewolf state, but no more comforting. "Mortals. You still persist in the belief that some types of blood are superior to others. It's the _age_ of the victim that counts, human, not whether the line is 'royal' or 'noble'. In any case, I've never wanted for young blood here. Shall we forgo the pointless chatter then, and get down to the feast?"

"Gladly." Destin craned his neck back toward the others, noticing the smiles of recognition that many of them wore even while they fought against the urge to break and run as usual. Routine, as he had come to learn, was comforting, and no time required such comforts such as the brink of a battle. For better or worse, the more accustomed the men and women Warren had brought together became to it, the easier and more proficiently they could do what must be done. Seeing their leader in such good spirits would be the crowning touch. No visible fear. Never allowing a telltale waver to be seen, even for an instant. For the average man, he decided the best commanding officer was an eternal warrior who laughed at death and killed as casually as a farmer might thresh wheat. _Small wonder Blaine serves that purpose so well. Gods help us._

"Well. You heard the bloodsucker, people! Looks like he wants to..."

"-FIGHT IT OUT!"

On cue, he stepped to one side before charging the archer nearest Letishe, making room for their own secret weapon to charge alongside him. The rest of the rebels followed, weapons raised and voices piercing the breezy night air. All in all, it reminded Destin most of the rebel's first battle, where he had first met Bernard.

It seemed like lifetimes ago, and the changes between then and now became readily apparent. The heavy plate armour of a knight in place of his own custom. Only a flinch as he struck down his first target, slicing her bow in two and driving the Mystic Mace into her rib cage, ignoring four arrows' worth of retaliation bouncing off his armour. No tears, and only the innermost of regrets at the death. _Gods help _me_._

Changes in the length of his own muscles, his skin colour, and weight which had not been there at Sharom. Nearly dying from a ghost's chill touch had left him in a day's euphoria with blood cold as ice, and in that he dreamed of the future.

Fubuki and Kapella's attacks only threw further evidence against whatever barriers of logic an unconventional education on the Tor wrought in him. There was a sense of incredible freedom taking his breath away. The idea, cold to the touch yet inflaming his imagination, that the physical laws of mortals no longer applied to him. Saying exactly the right words had become routine as breathing, as did cutting down all of those who stood in his way, just as he now drove his sword into a beast tamer's hides and withdrew it covered in dark red. Blood. So much blood. Everywhere. He still flinched, but the rest came as easy as breathing. He was an instrument, only partly in control of something apart from himself.

The enemy had come here looking to kill the rebel leader, Destin of house Naught. A rookie human commander, young and uncertain, having never bloodied his hands with another before now. Weak. Easily killed.

Yet somehow, the man they had come to send to the next world no longer existed. The proof was all around him now, forcing itself upon him as the battle exploded into its full horror. Like Tomas Neralai beside him, Destin was no longer fully human. And like sir Neralai, that meant a struggle between the two sides of him for as long as he lived. The human who grieved for the lives lost on both sides and the merciless warrior who demanded more and organized the slaughter so that one side- their side- would always prevail over the other. It was the mind of Kapella's executioner. _So be it._

By the time the sun returned, every last one of the Imperials who had gathered on the hilltop lay dead, only memorialized by the rows of scratches on dozens of warrior's cuffs.

* * *

Castle Valparin lay nestled in a long valley in the southernmost reaches of Deneb's Garden. Though it appeared smaller than the brazen monoliths occupying Zenobia's other districts, a sheen of lighter-coloured stone throughout its walls did much to better reveal an elegant and clean setup closer to Parcival than Jindark.

The majority of its current function truly lay in the in floors beneath the main structure, and so the rebel strike force did not meet with any resistance from the castle's gates or fortifications as they swept from the mountains across a field to the small castle's tower. Even had the gates been hard iron in lieu of easily-destroyed wood, no gate could keep rebel fliers such as Canopus and Garla out. Tired and hungry from their long journey, they nonetheless assailed Deneb's home with a renewed energy before simply battering down the door to the stairway descending into her private 'labs'.

The witch made an excellent show of not appearing to know of the intrusion. Only a handful of guards were cut down, and when Gilbert led Canopus, his fellow Hawk clanner Arbalow, Fubuki, and Liat down these steps, Deneb did not look up from the cauldron she had been working on.

This, they noticed, was her only concession to the stereotype of the cackling, wart-ridden hags from the stories. Deneb the Witch wore naught but lurid pink on a revealing dress and her wide-brimmed hat, and even from the back her youthful beauty made itself evident to the rebel party; a voluptuous woman straight from the most wicked fantasies of any man of less than 30 summers.

Beyond that, the lab was surprisingly tidy, with everything organized into cupboards or the strange tubes of glass the width of a Worgen running from floor to ceiling. Sure enough, several pumpkins, dead lizards, mushrooms, and herbs lay on spare tables until the time which the castle's lord saw need for them in her experiments.

"Deneb Rhodes, governess of Valparin Peaks", Gilbert called to her from across the room, weapons at the ready. "We've come to end your reign of terror. Surrender and you shan't be harmed."

"Jeigan, I told you not to interrupt me when I'm working", she called back without looking up from the cauldron. Her voice was sharp but lacking in anger. "Wait just a second...! Ah. Silly me. Jeigan's been gone for 40 years. Or was it 50? Well, never mind then. Who are you?"

Gilbert stifled a chuckle at seeing the confusion on several of his comrades' faces. None of them, not even Canopus, would be familiar with the witch's absent-mindedness or her tendency to lapse into the past. "It's Gilbert Oblion, miss."

She stopped reaching for the pumpkin and whipped around, all smiles. "Gilbert. Oh, Gilbert! It's so nice of you to come and visit! It seems you hardly ever get your hiney out of Parcival these days." Seemingly oblivious to the weapons they all held, she walked over and gave Gilbert an enthusiastic hug. "And you brought your friends, too! I'll have to prepare breakfast for you all. You should have called, but anyway I'm glad to see you again. It's been far too long. You look so old, dearie."

_This is the evil witch of Valparin?_, Canopus Walf mused to himself in absurdity. This_ is the one who tried to bribe Blaine to kill Destin?_

"The job ages one terribly, I'm afraid", his human friend managed, prying the witch free. "In fact, I've now found a task I enjoy far more- liberating Zenobia from those who unjustly occupy it. That includes you, 'dearie'."

Shocked, Deneb stepped back, at once looking very sad and lonely. "Oh, no. You want to fight? Now? Before breakfast?"

"Sadly, I have orders", Gilbert said, his features duplicating the witch's dismay. "Unless you surrender yourself into our custody, we have no choice but to fight."

She sighed. "Well, I guess there's no other way. I can't leave until my experiments are done. Your commander's a real meanie, you know?"

Finally losing his patience, Fubuki brandished his katana. "Enough foreplay, wench. You're clearly outnumbered, and I see you have no weapon. It would be futile to fight us."

"You're right", Deneb agreed, raising one hand. A white flash lit the chamber, leaving behind a simple looking wooden cane the length of a sword. "This is hardly fair at all. Guess I'll have to play rough, then." A second flash burst upon the rebels, this time blinding all five of them for a handful of breaths- enough for the witch's own reinforcements to shatter the glass tubes which held them. With moans that reminded Gilbert of the undead, four green-garbed figures strode from the wreckage, skinny and devoid of arms. But the strangest thing about these men was not their attire or frame, but the fact that all four bore diabolically grinning pumpkins in the place of their heads, with strange flames illuminating them behind the frozen holes.

"By the Gods", Liat exclaimed, recoiling despite years of experience. "What in Gran's name has she created here?"

The four pumpkin men- or perhaps women, for it was impossible to tell for sure- did not answer, at least not verbally. One leaned forward, its head coming off from impact with a table and flying directly into Fubuki's face before exploding. Before he'd gotten back to his feet and cleared his blade, the tiny bud left behind had already grown back into a pumpkin one third the size of its original one, and would be ready to fire again in moments. "Gran's bones!"

"Do you like them?", Dened asked innocently of her four servants, as if showing off a work of art. A tiny white spark leapt from her stave, flashing into a room-filling flare and momentarily blinding all the rebels equally, giving the pumpkin-creatures time to strike Gilbert and Arbalow head-on. "You won't _believe_ the number of mistries it took to get them to live. A little too much Dachi herb, a stray pinch of salt, and you just get an explosion. A messy explosion."

"B-brilliant work, dear", Gilbert managed to cough over the pumpkin head's impact on his ribs as he stood. "Such a pity we must destroy these 'samples' now. Wind Rider!"

The fourth head never reached its target, intercepted by a bolt of golden lightning projected by Canopus' club. Not wanting to be outdone, Fubuki slammed his katana down, generating the Iainuki wave again. Upending tables and shredding all in its path, it tore into one pumpkin-soldier, stunning the abomination of science long enough for Liat's katana to bisect it.

Another pumpkin knocked him off his feet, but now the rest of his comrades had recovered from the initial shock, knowing to focus on the pumpkins. The one who had fired its head at Liat was blasted by Canopus and whipped into submission by Gilbert before it could grow a new one, and now the bird-man Arbalow flew in to take the next flying head, somehow swinging his club around in a circle and launching the flaming sphere back to sender, destroying it as well. The final foe continued to hurl its own weapon in vain until Fubuki and Liat's blades found it, after which a deathly quiet descended on the six remaining fighters. The fight was over.

Surveying the wreckage they'd made of the basement lab with satisfaction, Canopus turned to his old friend. "Were those...?"

Gilbert scratched his beard but did not let his eyes stray from Deneb. "Possibly. If so, they were already too far gone to ever be made human again. Though, perhaps the witch would care to share the details?"

Seeing the others with their weapons drawn, mean and twitchy from repeated applications of exploding pumpkin, pierced the veil of childishness Deneb preferred to project, and she sat down on the last remaining stool to have a sulk. "...Bah. Poopy-heads. They took so long to make, and you guys shredded them in less than a minute. I'll have to make some improvements if they're ever going to be considered for real combat conditions."

Seizing her by the arm Gilbert finally got the message across. "That will have to wait, my dear. Come up with us now- we must wait for Destin."

"Goody", she nodded eagerly. "So now I get to meet Destin. Is he handsome?"

Gilbert sighed.

* * *

As it turned out, all the tales of the renowned strength of the Dragonkin were accurate, at least if the dragon who had attacked them on the way through the mountain pass was any indication. Crouched along a ridge almost as though it found such a position comfortable, the green-skinned reptile loosed streams of flame from its snout, as commanded by a wizard upon its back that seemed to be its handler. These blew many of Destin's people back and set young Sara Ellgwyr's blue robes alight. Impressing Destin, she ignored the pain quickly and rolled around to put it out.

One day while marching, Gilbert had explained to him why it was that Dragonkin were the single most difficult creature to tame and train as a mount or pet or even an equal. "_Intelligence_", the beast tamer had surmised simply. "The Dragonkin are closer to human-level intellect than any other quadruped in the world. They have their own customs, their own means of communication, and legends say there's a great many secrets even the most loyal brood will keep from it's human master."

"But the Empire possesses a great number of them", the rebel leader had reasoned. "How? If they treat them anything like they treat their low-level troops..."

"Ah", Gilbert had cut him off knowingly as they walked. "But they do not. In fact, there is a special Order in the Empire dedicated solely to the befriending and taming of Dragons, which are called the Dragoners, and the higher-ranking members Dragon Masters. They build mutual respect by providing vast sanctuaries for the Dragonkin under them, promoting their welfare at every opportunity. Some of their members even genuinely believe the Order's principles, I've heard tell."

This wizard showed no signs of a member of that Order, but it was just as clear that he was the Dragon's handler. Without waiting for the huge lizard to direct another blast their way, he directed the division's remaining archers in a salvo towards the green-hooded enemy, one of them sticking in his throat before he could muster a spell or order his Dragon to strike again. The Dragon continued to make halfhearted efforts to kill the rebels until the moment its handler died, at which point it simply flew off, ignoring Destin's raised hand.

A silly notion, really. As though a Dragon could be persuaded to listen so easily. The creature would either return to the wild or to one of its other handlers. Taking a moment to shuffle the wounded to the rear, he led the division onward.

Valparin castle showed little sign of the sieges that had been conducted towards the fortresses of Goyas and Parcival as the rebel leader's unit marched out of the vale after several more encounters with Imperials and wildlife. Canopus and Liat waited for them at the main entrance- strong evidence that the fight was already won. He felt Harrison Ordas slump next to him and chuckled. "Better that than to find our comrades dead, sir Ordas."

"Of course, sir. Just annoyed that we carried our weapons and armour all this way for nothing."

The samurai walked up to greet them with an unusual warmth for one of his profession, showing them into the lobby in case Destin had wished to use the castle as their next staging point. It was then, observing the handful of defeated guards and still-intact dinner tables where many of the other chiefs were already seated, that he saw Deneb Rhodes.

His sword clattered to the ground, and he did not kneel to pick it up for many breaths. He had come down through the north vale expecting a fair maiden out of some fantasy storybook, the kind who possessed exterior beauty and nothing else of merit, helpless in the face of anything more threatening than a large rat.

The witch was nothing like that. There was attraction, certainly, but a calculating mind beneath the childish expression. Beneath that... was someone Destin felt like he'd known forever, every gesture or turn of the head yielding familiarity. Kneeling down to pick up his weapon, he made sure to peel his gaze away from that youthful face, and closed his eyes.

No. His mind wasn't being fooled by some enchantment. Even without looking directly at her he could feel his heart pounding, and if that were the case the rest of his people would have been similarly affected. In fact, Gilbert had made sure to keep a firm grip on the witch's stave arm, forcing her down on her knees as he walked her up to them. "Lord Destin, meet Deneb Rhodes, governess of Valparin Peaks and the one responsible for all the terrible crimes that have been going on in the district."

He halted a moment, mustering some words that wouldn't sound like he'd left a piece of his brain back in the vale. "She surrendered to you?"

"In a way", the beast tamer admitted grudgingly. "But don't think for a moment this is anything like my situation. This wicked witch has never known regret in her life, and she only helped the Empire so their soldiers would steal resources from the people, letting perform her experiments down in the basement."

Without any hints, Deneb shifted and dropped one pink slipper onto Gilbert's foot, the heel leaving him howling as he let go. "That's not true!", she pouted once Destin had firmly grabbed her by the shoulder, stopping Liat from cutting her down. "I never took anything they couldn't replace. Pumpkins? Herbs? Newt eyes? They're everywhere around here."

"And what about lives, wench?", Liat chipped in, his missing eye a grotesque counterpoint. "What the poor folks you turned into those pumpkin-creatures, eh? What about the people you threatened to get what you wanted?"

"Pumpkin-creatures?", Destin asked skeptically. He did not relax his grip.

"In the basement, lord. Four of 'em and the start of many more in glass coffins. Abominations, the whole lot of 'em."

But Deneb refused this charge as well. "They were already dead, you samurai poopy-head. I wouldn't kill people just for my research, not when there's so many corpses around these days." She winked at Destin as if to say 'thank you'.

"Don't listen to a word she says, lord", Gilbert insisted once the pain in his foot had subsided. "You can't trust her. You can't even bring her. Don't forget the army she sent to kill us. Is that the act of an innocent woman?"

Withdrawing his grip, Destin pinched his nose bridge hard. He knew what came next. "So just what are you suggesting, Gilbert?"

"Death", the tamer said simply. "It's the only way to ensure she won't harm any more people. Leave her here, and it's back to business as usual. No one in the district will ever forgive you if you pass up this chance to slay her now."

Amazingly, this decree did not make the witch become any more agitated or desperate. She looked over at Destin, her best puppy-dog eyes noticeable but ineffective at disputing his resolve. "Oh, no... Please don't. I'm sorry, okay? I didn't realize how much everyone hated me. I didn't know!"

"Kill her now", Liat breathed into Destin's ear. "She'll spin however many lies it takes to get out of this. Kill her now, and every Imperial governor from here to Allamoot will think twice before abusing their people again."

Destin looked around. He saw how all the nearby rebels were glowering at the witch's attempts at sympathy. Many would be glad to do the deed themselves, particularly those who had family or friends in the Valparin Peaks district.

"I'm sorry", Deneb was continuing to plead, now down on her knees of her own accord. "Please. I know I've been bad. Punish me. Punish me however you wish. Anything you ask of me, but not death. I can't go out that way, not now."

Destin stared back, for a moment wanting more than anything to be lost in those crystalline eyes forever, and so escape this horrible decision. His sword felt like it had somehow transmuted into adamantium, yet he would never force one of his people to do something he was not willing to do himself.

All eyes in the grand hall were watching him. Waiting for him to do the right thing. But the Gods were silent. For the first time in his life, he had absolutely no idea what the right thing was...

* * *

From the highest tower of Zenobia Castle, Deva-General Kaus Debonair could finally comprehend how it was that governor Darian could allow the spread of hundreds of buildings all around them here in the capital to become the infamous 'Slums of Zenobia'.

The castle had, after all, once been the seat of power for King Gran Zenobia and his vassals. Whatever ill-use it had seen since then, the magnificence of the structure made the handful of lesser castles built for the district governors look feeble by comparison. There were halls and quarters and ballrooms located here which Debonair would never see, not if he devoted an entire day to exploring.

Privately, he wished he could in fact do so, for architecture was a close second to his main interest, particularly foreign architecture which did not subscribe to the minimalist aesthetic of his home country Here, the builders had their king's permission to get fancy and create unique, thought-provoking designs on the walls and windows for their own sake.

But duty, as always, came first. Debonair forced his gaze away from the sight over the balcony rail and regarded the Empire's chosen governor. An older man devoid of hair anywhere but the tip of his chin, Darian looked understandably fitful at having his command structure knocked out from under him, but also bore an impudence towards the very idea that he required assistance from his masters. Clearly, someone hadn't been paying much attention to the other districts' plight.

Governor Darian cared nothing for duty, Kaus Debonair recognized sourly. The only role his mind understood was that of the tight-fisted tax collector, occasionally breaking a citizen's reluctance to pay with threat of force but no combat experience beyond that. That money was spent on himself or on the castle's upkeep, almost never on the people who yet lived within the capital's enclosed walls.

The results were visible from the balcony- signs of structural decay throughout the city and obscene graffiti made from blood or ink or other liquids he preferred not to dwell on decorating multiple surfaces. Down on ground level, the men and women of Zenobia strove to eke out a living in a city with no law or effective government to help them, prevented either by guards or their own stubbornness from leaving. Zenobia's once-grand capital city was now also the prostitution and murder capital of the country.

And what did this matter to the governor? He ruled through fear and by virtue of his noble blood. By staying up here on the top floors of the castle, he could remain safe from vengeful citizens and appease whatever scraps of conscience yet remained in his soul. Out of sight meant out of mind. Seeing the man hunched over a table counting Goth coins one by one, the general forcibly told himself that this horrible situation was more due to the governor's excesses than the Empire's. Certainly it would not be out-of-place for them to replace Darian with someone more competent before departing this country. By the Court of Swords, if necessary. He swore to Freya it would be done.

For now, though, Darian remained their chief source of information on the situation. Forcing his mind away from the destitute denizens of the Slums, he paced forward with his long blade drawn. "Now, then. To business. We've received word that the rebels have seized Valparin Peaks as well, placing all of the major districts within their control save for this one. From where shall they strike?"

Darian looked up from counting his Goth, confused and uncertain of who the general spoke to. "Oh. They dare not strike us here, m'lord. No amount of rebel scum can get past these walls, and our gates are a great deal stronger than anything at the district fortresses. There is no need to worry."

Unable to restrain himself, Debonair grabbed the man's throat, lifting him high. "Do you see it NOW, governor? The lands beyond these walls? You do remember that they exist, do you not? That _they_ provide the resources that this city needs to struggle on? Should we fortify here, the rebels will possess a weapon no force of arms can stop. Hunger."

"You... how... dare... you...", Darian forced air back into his system once the general dropped him, brushing off his blue noble's tunic contemptuously. "It's of no concern, general. This castle's cellar holds food enough to last us for weeks if need be, and if they linger then they must face the rigours of hunger as well."

_Which of course means the people in the slums shall suffer even worse during a protracted siege. _He grimaced. As useful a boon as the great walls of Zenobia were, he could not simply hole up within them and expect the rebel army to expend themselves against it. Never. Any army, no matter how weak, could resort to that coward's tactic, and the vanguard of the 12th Legion would be following him here soon.

"I'll ask once again, governor. From _where_ shall they strike?"

Darian spoke judiciously, aware as anyone else now that the towering general would not even require a weapon to crush his skull. "There's... there's an abandoned Zenobian garrison far southeast of here. A path junction that... leads to the rest of the district."

"Then that is where they shall strike from", Kaus decided out loud, staring out at the world beyond the Slums, trying to make out the aforementioned barracks. "The ocean shields us to the west, north, and the southwest. We shall venture out and engage them."

"Good", the governor echoed from behind him, relieved. "Then in less than a day, this idiocy will all be over."

Debonair clutched his sword hilt tight. _Indeed. Many idiotic things shall be. _"All I require from you is use of your runners and supply lines. My people shall take care of the rest."

He had not expected a screech of greeting from the Imperial force's opening squadron of fliers, but the timing of it made him seem even more the walking God to Darian's people. It was a role he'd been forced into too many times not to understand, snarky jokes about his blood name notwithstanding. Rare was the time when he ever felt truly 'Debonair'. Coming from around the castle tower, a handful of troops he recognized and many others he did not flashed a lens as their ready signal. "The rest of the air cavalry are but hours away, Lord Debonair", one of the sub-commanders informed him from his perch on a silver-feathered Cockatrice, the evolutionary ancestors of the Griffon species. "The others will be arriving by boat tomorrow morning. A good thing, as the witch's district has already fallen. Likewise the bandit lord Sirius."

The Empire's youngest Deva nodded. He'd expected nothing less from either side of the conflict. This vanguard possessed many such fliers and nearly an equal number of ground troops designed for fast travel in other types of terrain, including a great many domesticated dragons. Dozens of valkyria, some of them low-ranking _Einherjar_. He shook his head in something like shame. All of this awesome firepower under his command, thrown against a band of scarcely a hundred men and women. It sounded unfair even to him. How could such a force fail to strike fear into Destin the Valiant's heart? It couldn't.

"Freya watch over us." Thoughtfully, he raised his own weapon over the railing, watched it sparkle in the afternoon sun. "It's such a beautiful day. And tomorrow, we shall ride forth and demonstrate to this infantile rebellion how a _real_ war is fought. I am certain they will find it a harrowing experience before...ah. What is the phrase, Darian? That charming phrase which your people use? Ah, yes. 'Embracing the Thirteenth'. From here on in, it matters not what they say or do- the absolute end awaits."

* * *

Author's Note:

Well well, look who's getting a remake (Tactics Ogre). The trailer spells Zeteginea differently but I'd prefer to stick with the original spelling for the duration of this story. Hope you all liked Deneb.


	10. Days Long Gone

**Days Long Gone**

**

* * *

**

**Tarot IX - Hermit**

_After a long and busy lifetime, building, creating, loving, hating, fighting, compromising, failing and succeeding, the Fool feels a profound need to retreat. In a small, rustic home deep in the woods, he hides, reading, cleaning, organizing, resting or just thinking. But every night at dusk he heads out, traveling across the bare, autumnal landscape. He carries only a staff and a lantern. _

_It is during these restless walks from dusk till dawn, peering at and examining whatever takes his fancy, that he sees and realizes things he's missed, about himself and the world. It is as if the secret corners in his head were being slowly illuminated; corners he never knew existed. In a way, he has become the Fool again; as in the beginning, he goes wherever inspiration leads him. But as the Fool, his staff rested on his shoulder, carrying unseen his pack. The Fool was like the pack, whatever it was he could be was wrapped up, unknown. The Hermit's staff leans out before him, not behind. And it carries a lantern, not a pack. The Hermit is like the lantern, illuminated from within by all he is._

_

* * *

_

It was, Lans Hamilton reckoned in irony, a complete reversal of the situation after the death of Usar. Another Imperial leader beaten, another enemy army scattered, another district liberated. But this time it was his friend Destin who had made a terrible error and _he_ who would have to bring it before him now. He could not call himself the young man's best friend otherwise.

As expected, Destin was in the planning chamber, coordinating the final offensive down to the smallest division after all the other chiefs had retired for the night. Weeks of battle and marching had scarred him physically and mentally, but deep down beneath the borrowed knight's armour Lans suspected he still bore the strange gentleness of soul that had made him such an engaging child to raise for twenty years. In fact, he greeted him with a warm smile that reminded them both of better days. "Ah, Lans. You have a concern with the plan?"

Without a word, he drew his sword, rammed its three feet of steel into the table. He would never hurt Destin, but wished to make certain the seriousness of his problem came through. "T'is not that battle which concerns me most, my brother, but the previous one."

He looked up, eyebrows arched. "About?"

As he had done with the sword, he took care to reveal a small portion of his outrage to impress on Destin how important this transgression was. "As though you are unaware of what I speak. You spared the witch, sir Destin. Spared her despite dozens of innocent deaths and years of terror and oppression in her district. Spared her despite the unholy 'pumpkin-head' abominations Gilbert says the strike force fought against. Why?"

In his friend he could make out the initial impulse to dismiss this accusation with nothing more than the usual tenet about compassion for one's enemies, but just as quickly he recognized that to be a mistake and composed himself, walking around the table to see face-to-face. "Like the people of Valparin Peaks right now, you believe I forgave her due to her seducing me. You're convinced she's placed me under an evil spell or something." He gave a soft chuckle. "I don't recall hearing such admonishments from you or 'the people' when I spared Gilbert the knife. Is it because he is a man, and she a woman?"

But Lans' eyes darkened further, annoyed like he'd never been before by Destin's tendency to try and fog the issue. "It does Gilbert a disservice, sir, to even mention him in the same sentence as the _Witch_. Sir Gilbert worked his entire life to safeguard the people in his care. Though Canopus and I strongly disagree with his methods, we recognize in him a genuine desire to protect. In her district, the witch only ever saw fodder for her experiments- she is just as bad as Kapella. So I must ask again; did her beauty play _any_ role in your decision? Recognize that I would have your answer before continuing with this war."

"You dodge well yourself, I see", he commented before folding his arms and choosing his words carefully. "I admit her beauty is alluring. Tantalizingly so. Never have I felt this way around any woman that I have around her. She has resurrected emotions within my soul I believed killed by seclusion and battle. I noticed that she felt the same way, too."

"What do you mean?", Lans demanded, becoming tense. This was not what he had wanted to hear. "Surely, she only displayed affections for you so that you would forgive her! It is always the way. When a woman is gifted with striking beauty by the Gods, they quickly learn as they grow up that it can be used to convince any man to sleep with them, or do whatever else it is they ask. I have spoken with the surviving guardsmen, and several of them worked under her without pay, simply for the _privilege_ of being near the witch!"

But Destin shook his head with a faint smile. He smiled all the time now that he had met Deneb Rhodes. "I think... that it is genuine. In fact, despite my placing her under house arrest, imprisoning her in her own castle without the materials to continue her studies, she has already submitted a request by runner that I return to visit her after the capital has fallen. Me, specifically. Would she do so if she did not care?"

"I would not presume to fathom the mind of the witch", Lans said acidly. "Furthermore, you are acting most erratically for a man on the eve of such an important battle."

Any idea that his friend might be on some kind of stimulant herb was dispelled by the plain annoyance in his expression. "So... What? Just what is it you want me to do? Go back to Valparin and say 'apologies madam, but it looks like we are going to execute you after all because the people want us to'? It doesn't work that way, Lans."

"You should have thought of that before sparing her", the captain insisted. "T'is a wholly selfish act to do so against the will of the people. It is... Out of character for you, sir Destin."

He glared, again locking eyes as was his custom. "And just what makes you think you know me so well?" But he could not hold such a cold stare for long. He still liked his old mentor too much for that. "I'm sorry. That was a callous thing to say. But sometimes, 'the people' are completely wrong, Lans. What if 'the people' declared themselves happy in the Empire's thrall?"

"Now you sound like the Wind Rider."

He hadn't considered that, yet took it mostly as a compliment. Canopus remained one of the best among their veteran warriors, and like Destin himself was of improper blood for his position. As he had explained one day, the Winged Ones consisted of three clans- Eagle, Raven, and Hawk. Each had their own signature colours and traditions, with Raven being the least 'respected', yet Canopus and Yulia were orphaned from the Eagle clan at a young age and taken in by the Hawk clan leader of the time some years back. Since that bird man had died, Canopus had taken over the position. He resolved himself to ask the gruff Wind Rider how often he had complaints from his men that he was unsuitable, and how he dealt with them. He'd certainly had no difficulties killing Raven and Hawk clanners who had joined the Empire, renouncing them as traitors to their people.

Of course, duty came first. The battle for the capital promised to be perhaps the first challenge in which the entire rebel army would die if things went ill. Destiny only went so far- he would dedicate every waking hour, every ounce of his skill, to making sure that did not happen. And the absence of Lans' people would certainly make things far more difficult.

So he looked back at his old friend, and out the windows of the garrison they'd used as a temporary base, baums from the capital's very walls. "Lans... My brother. None of us are so perfect as we believe. I can't unmake selfish decisions. In fact, I predict that you are about to make a very selfish decision yourself after the next thing I say."

Under his helmet, the dark blue knight blinked. "And that would be, lad?"

He palmed an area of the map far north of their position, still far off from the capital. "I have it on good authority that right here, behind walls every bit as strong as Zenobia's, the Empire has constructed what is called a 'gulag'. No one gets in, no one gets out. A gulag called By'roit, which holds the infamous traitor, captain Ashe."

As predicted, Lans nearly fell over. Even Usar had cursed this man's name to the deepest pits of the underworld. "H-he is... alive? Alive, after all this time?"

Destin nodded. "There are a few others there as political prisoners, but Ashe is the highest-profile resident. I should warn you, he will be guarded. The prisoners are carefully tended to so as not to take their own lives."

But Lans would hear none of it, practically trembling. "It matters not. I request a flying steed, sir Destin, so that I may exact vengeance long overdue on the traitor. I shan't be long, and I shall turn back if the Empire has blockaded the place, though I have no idea why they would do so."

His leader sighed, expecting no less. Sometimes the knight captain was so predictable. "Granted. Take one of Gilbert's Wyrms, and meet us at El Rangen when the deed is done."

If there was some glimmer of recognition by Lans as to how he was being played, he did not show it, and soon departed. The demon was pleased. Satisfied, Destin turned his attention to the two men striding into the room, carrying a blanketed object mounted on a long pole. Setting it upon the table with a dull clank, the first one swept the blanket away, and Destin gasped, for once forgetting all about battle plans.

As expected, the remodelling of his armour was more opulent than the old suit which had been destroyed by Kapella's lightning. What he had not counted on was just how much more so it was. Like its predecessor, the suit was predominantly a faded crimson, though brighter than before, and outlined in silver. Less protective than a knight's armour but also less cumbersome, the new mail, gauntlets and helmet bore intricate tracings of the ancient battles reputed to have forged the land of Zenobia into its original state. Whatever group of forgers had collaborated on it obviously thought very highly of him indeed.

Noticing the expectant look of one of those very craftsmen, he smiled. "Excellent. More than I had ever hoped for on such short notice."

"We spared no expense, lord Destin", the second one elaborated, grinning as he palmed each segment as though it were his own child. "That's enchanted silver from the Janneia riverbeds on the hinges- regularly flexible, but capable of resisting most kinds of magic. The main base was composed of a lime-steel hybrid, strong enough to repel enemy blades, yet the entire set only weighs a mere 25 pounds."

He whistled. That was lighter than the original. He'd still be able to move like the wind. "All cut exactly to your measurements", the forger continued. "You may also notice the helmet bends at a higher angle now, giving you more head room."

"You guys...", he shook his head in disbelief. "It is more than I deserve, and I hope you give equal care towards the rest of the knights." Without waiting for a fitter, he began to detach the heavy iron of the dead knight whose armour he'd worn to the battles at Janneia and Deneb's Garden, minus the enclosed helmet which would have been even more unwanted weight. "I cannot say I shall be sad to be rid of this. Not quite sure how the others fight in it. A stronger man can make better use of it than I."

He spoke truth, for though it was proven that knights such as Lans and Bors built up great physical strength and protected themselves extremely well in wearing oppressive suits of 60 pounds or more into battle, Destin had no time to get used to such a method. He fought best while lithe and mobile. His slow reaction time against Sirius and Letishe proved that beyond all doubt, and so he'd declined tempting fate a third time with Deneb.

Now, though, the new armour felt as though a piece missing from him had at last been restored as he donned it, better than ever. "It is far too pretty to wear into battle", he observed, seeing candlelight reflecting off every polished surface, glimmering as he moved. "So I must apologize, since this wonderful work will likely be damaged soon enough."

"One more thing, my lord", the first forger reminded him, looking at the weapon on Destin's belt. "We spoke with miss Yulia the other day when we were delivering this. You've not yet named your sword, have you?"

He blinked in confusion. Just one more Zenobian tradition he knew nothing of, such as always making camp facing towards where the sun would rise in the morning so that the Gods would see their eager faces, or spitting in one's urine to dilute its evil afterwards. He might consider himself lucky that it was brought to light in private. "No. Should I have?"

"You should", the second said carefully, "if you have indeed slain five enemies. It is tradition for such an accomplished warrior to name the weapon which allowed them to do so. Those with twenty wartime kills are immortalized by their chosen Orders with a title varying according to which one."

He closed his eyes and thought back, going over bloodstained memories that seemed at once jumbled together. _So that is why people mark their kills on their cuffs. _He would still not do so. "I can remember seven, if you count Kapella."

"A lucky number", the first observed with enthusiasm Destin did not feel at the memory of the old man's head flying. "And governor Radigan certainly counts- he is your most prestigious kill of all. What shall you call it, my lord?"

He thought for a moment, seeing his own reflected eyes in the steel. "Kalanbolg."

* * *

The next day, from his flying mount General Kaus Debonair studied the rebel army's opening moves through the district surrounding the Slums of Zenobia with detached admiration. Unbeknownst to him, Destin ap Neb was doing the exact same thing with the imperials a few baums away.

The fact that nearly every part of the opposing army was equipped with flight-capable steeds did not surprise him, for the massive wrought-iron gate of Zenobia was stupendously heavy and its aging mechanisms poorly cared-for by governor Darian's people. To open and close the gate again would take all day, allowing the rebels too much time to sneak through and bypass the Empire's strongest defence. The remaining ground forces must have been kept back in the Slums, unable to leave but impossible to attack.

What surprised him were the _numbers_. The valkyries alone equalled the size of his own force, and those were borne by a wide range of flying beasts. The white-feathered Cockatrices remained the most common sight, but here and there one would catch a glimpse of domesticated Wyrms like the kind that Gilbert had tamed, griffons and green dragons, all led by the single red brood which the general himself rode. There was a clutch of gold-winged bird men who appeared to be of Eagle clan lineage, which cast Canopus Walf into an avian fury upon realizing that the Empire now had representatives from all three of the bird-man clans in its service. They carried a number of others upon their backs, including beast tamers and wizards.

All of this, _after_ Debonair had been forced to split his army in half, and this was the more mobile half. Destin shook his head in dismay at the sight. No matter how well he planned this battle, no matter how destiny watched over them, the rebels were going to lose people today. Lots of them. They would have loyal souls depart to the next world before they could be whisked away to the local Roshian temple, which Destin had indeed made sure to secure right away.

_So this is it_, he thought to himself fitfully,_ this_ _is the divine wrath which Gilbert and Bernard believed it better to submit before than face._ Though Kaus Debonair's reputation painted him as a decent man, no guarantees could be made about how forgiving whoever took over the punishment of Zenobia's indigenous peoples might be after the battle was won. Not that any promises of mercy would sway him now. _We dare not lose. We dare not fail. Not after coming so far. After so many commitments, so many promises... I'll find a way. I have to._

At last seeing the imperial divisions congregating over an area of plains within sight of the city of El Rangen, the rebel leader swiftly reordered his own people into a battle line, circular and bending outwards from the city so it would be difficult to flank. As was the case in South Sharom, air deterrence was key. Jennifer Argyle would direct the rest of the archers in shooting down as many flying enemies as possible, aided in this endeavour by Warren's acolytes, a handful of Volzak squires he'd spent the duration of the rebellion training in the rudimentary basics of Arcana magic whenever not himself engaged. The assigned leader of this group, a sedately-mannered easterling named Tsuno, was enthusiastic about their chances. With Sister Yenda's clerics behind them and ready to heal, they would compose the first line.

The second line, consisting of the majority of the rebel knights and samurai under Fubuki and Bors' stern command, would be held back until the enemy had descended into melee range, for a major component of the Empire's training regimen for its signature valkyries was the education in a basic form of thunder magic, far from Kapella's level or even Warren's, but still lethal against armoured foes or Golems.

Finally, the independent operators waiting in the back to be unleashed. Canopus and all of his men, Gilbert, Ingelsias and Halla were all capable of harassing the flying enemy with fast strikes and retreats, softening them up as they approached. Every kill they inflicted would count twice- once for the flying mount, and once for the rider who would fall 50 or more vertical feet to the earth below without their steed. The ghosts in particular would be a great boon, for the rebel spotters reported no sign of clerics among the enemy. A small blessing, though he warned them not to push their luck.

All of this surged through his mind again and again as he watched the general and his closest subordinates approach from on high, descending to the flat plain equally far between the two armies under the white banner of parlay. Though Warren had spoken of leaders in the Empire who could not be trusted to keep to such a pledge, and would only use it as a trap, the Number One Deva was not one of these. In fact he appeared quite benign at first glance, his youthful flesh devoid of scars or other signs of combat. In keeping with the most common stereotypes about Zetegineans, he bore long, luxurious hair and skin as pale as Destin's own.

Beside him rode two valkyries in red and blue, looking far more battle-hardened. Destin had chosen Gilbert and Fubuki for his own retinue, which seemed only designed to show off both side's best warriors before the battle started. None of the imperial leaders seemed impressed by his new armour.

"Destin ap Neb, hero of the Rebellion", the Highlander general spoke in prim Zenobian, though so heavily accented that someone less experienced might have been puzzled. "We meet at last."

"1st Deva-General of the Empire Kaus Debonair", Destin replied smoothly, quickly suppressing whatever fear might infect his voice and damn him. "I wish I could say it is an honour, but I doubt this will remain civil for very long."

The general smiled sadly. Being half a head taller than his rebel counterpart made him seem greater, and at once Destin was glad that they were too far away for his people to see how he had to crane his neck, rubbing it against the metal collar of his armour to look the general in the eye. "You would be correct, I'm sorry to say. Though, perhaps you might wish to spare your people certain death."

"We have heard it before", Destin said. "Over and over again. Zenobians under your sway offering us mercy_, imploring_ us not to fight for our own safety, and those of the people we protect."

But Debonair waved that away as well. "Not a surrender. If you were that willing to give up you would never have gotten this far- you Zenobians aren't entirely incompetent. I propose a duel- my three best against your three best, for it appears as though we are already gathered. Mounts are excluded, of course. Loser goes home." He cracked a frosty grin, not exactly bloodthirsty, but eager. "A much more pleasant way of settling our differences, would you not agree, gentlemen?"

Himself, the samurai and the beast tamer versus these three. For a second Destin did consider the offer, but then remembered what he'd learned of the Empire's Deva. Kaus Debonair would never propose such a thing if he had even the slightest chance of losing, and doubtless the two beautiful women beside him were formidable as well. The one on the left he recognized now- black-haired Captain Liana ap Fordrannon, who did not speak a word of Zenobian but never needed to in order to make herself understood. Brutal violence was the universal language, and in that language she was an expert. "I am afraid I must decline, sir Debonair. For one thing, one of our best warriors is currently elsewhere, else he would be with us now."

At once he could sense the shift in the general's demeanour, not anger at being rebuked but a fear that the missing chief and his men might be doing something in secret they would come to regret not stopping. "Captain Lancelot Hamilton, of course. We have read the reports on your chiefs. Where is he now?"

He'd stolen the general's frosty grin. "I cannot tell you that. But thank you for the offer, regardless."

Now the general glowered, looking alternately annoyed at his counterpart's stubbornness, and sad to see that nothing either of them did could spare the two groups of disciplined men and women what was to come. He had his own commitments to duty, just as Destin had his. "_Verdammnt. _Then I suppose there is truly no way out. We will fight. And you will die. Goodbye, Destin ap Neb."

In parting, Destin failed to notice another kind of flyer zipping overhead in large numbers until Gilbert grabbed his arm and pointed them out. Crows. Hundreds of them, circling the area where the imperial force would break upon their line. Cawing loudly together, in anticipation of the feast to come.

* * *

To call By'roit a prison did not do justice to what comforts it had. Were it not for the high walls surrounding the gathering of simple buildings and the lack of any children, the place might have been taken for a small town from some thirty years past, and Lans Hamilton had known those years well enough to make such a comparison.

Naturally his mount drew attention where it came down to rest in the main square. The prying eyes of dozens came forth to watch the knight captain as he carefully slid off the creature's back and onto paved stone, tying the creature up at one of the pillars beneath what looked to be a granary. He left the rope tight but long, giving the Wyrm, who Gilbert said was named Mischa, a chance to fight back against anyone who might try to steal it. Indeed, already he could feel the desperation in many of those watching him like a tangible substance poisoning the air. They would kill, would risk fighting a powerful Wyrm, for a chance to leave this place. Walking down the main road towards the shanties that served as 'residence', he would have to keep his ears open for the telltale screech that meant the green-scaled creature was engaged.

He found the house said to be home to the legendary traitor with relative ease, but upon walking up to its front door he beheld the huge, blocky shape of a golem guarding it. Unlike those he was used to, this one was the same shade of marine blue as his armour with a dull green head, slightly brighter where the eyes were. Though unable to speak, raising its rocky fist before the door made it perfectly clear its intent. This was no doubt a guardian, an eternal construct used to prevent more notorious prisoners from leaving.

Not that he could permit it to stop him now. "I come to see the prisoner", Lans said carefully to the stone being's featureless mug. "I am not one myself. Let me pass."

But the golem shook the massive rock that made up its head to and fro, not budging an inch. Lans tried to walk past, but it gently pushed him back, glowering silently. It likely had no idea of the history of the man it was protecting. To this magical sentry, Ashe was just another convict, and this fact left Lans steaming. "Now look here, creature. I've slain your kind before, and if I must I shall do so again. One more chance. Let me through, or be destroyed."

The golem did not react to him, but the elderly woman running up to their confrontation. She wore unusually well-kept matron's robes for a prisoner, gray-haired visage and small lips and eyes peering out from a mauve hood. "_Enough_, Talos", she called to the golem briskly. "Let us pass. I bring food and water." And indeed, hanging off her left arm was a bread basket, a flask at her hip.

The dark golem peered down, blinking its green lights in uncertainty- something Lans had never seen a golem do- and then shambled aside for them to enter the small shack. "You have my thanks, milady", Lans said once they were across the threshold. "All of Zenobia is in your debt."

The matron did not seem impressed by this grandeur. "Forget Zenobia, all I wished was to deliver the captain his daily ration. Talos is so stubborn these days, even with inmates."

He stopped, letting her rap at the second door into the main room. "Talos? You named that thing?"

"All living creatures deserve names, sir knight. I am Banya."

"An honour, I am sure", he said, beholding the room beyond the next door. Dusty, plain and lacking in possessions as the first room, it only held a wooden table and chair upon which the target of his vengence lay slumped. Captain Ashe had been old even back when he had led the armies of Zenobia into battle, and now his years lay heavy upon his lidded features. All of the color had been washed from his hair, and the same was true for his bushy beard. The sight of such a man nearly moved Lans to pity, but then he remembered why he was here. "Sir Ashe. I've come to repay a twenty-four year debt."

Crusty eyes looked up from his chair, and the ex-captain slowly stood. He'd looked like a corpse before but his voice and posture yet held a lingering strength. "Hmph... You're Lancelot Hamilton, are you not? The young spitfire from Sharom? Why have you come here?"

"T'is Lans", he replied coldly, brandishing his sword. "And you know why I have come. Of all the dozens of thrice-damned traitors who made possible the death of my liege, you and the Sage Rahsidi are the most responsible of all."

The older knight seemed to deflate, looking from Lans to Banya as she set the basket and flask on a barren table. "Indeed you are right about that. You know I'm actually relieved, sir. I spent twenty years here waiting for a loyal son of Zenobia to come and kill me, for we are not allowed weapons and kind souls like lady Banya here do not allow us to starve ourselves. Rather disappointing... But better late than never, I suppose."

Ashe strode forth with his arms spread, clad in only a single-layer cloth tunic but unafraid. "Well? What are you waiting for, then? Strike me down. Take your vengeance for Gran. I am sure you've waited a very long time for it."

But Lans merely kept his blade at the ready, not wavering. Was this some kind of trick? Surely the infamous traitor would put up more of a struggle than this regardless of his age. Rather, it was Banya who stood in the way of twenty-four years worth of payback, her own arms spread wide to stop the sword. "Enough of this foolishness", she reproached him angrily. "Sir Ashe is one of the greatest heroes this kingdom has ever known. He has done nothing to deserve death."

"Banya", Ashe said before Lans could sputter an angry reply. "You know that is wrong. I failed my liege, failed my kingdom, and failed my people. Twenty four years after the fact, and I have only grown weaker. Death is the only release from my suffering. So please... Step aside."

The woman turned and glared back, equally indignant with him as Lans. "Bah! There you go again, blaming yourself for things beyond your control. Why don't you at least hear what sir Lancelot believes you guilty of first, before embracing the Thirteenth like some witless teenager?"

"That's Lans, miss Banya. Lans Hamilton. And this _keeracht, _this wretch that dares call himself a man, already knows what he is guilty of: Treason, my lady. Treason most vile." He inclined his head towards the man, seeing acknowledgement of his crimes in that withered face he so hated. Why then, did he continue to hesitate? Was it merely because of the woman now intent on blocking him?

"Then tell me", she ordered grimly. "Tell me what you believe. Because I tell you now, upon my soul, this man is no traitor."

Lans thought back, flashing back through the memories of the worst days of his life. "Captain Ashe was the leader of the Zenobian royal knights", he began. "For many years we served King Gran with honour and integrity, mainly dealing with internal threats to the crown."

"Like that vampire nest in Kastalpe?", Ashe offered, strangely interested in the story of his disgrace and actually looking happy. "That was fun, let me you..."

Lans coughed, wishing no further interruptions. "Like that, yes. But then the Highlanders came. Over the course of one year we fought them in Malano and Deneuve, pushed back by superior numbers and their merfolk allies until we had no choice but to abandon the outer continent and flee to the capital." Lowering the sword, he pointed at the ex-captain. "Then the time came for the battle for the capital. We fortified ourselves behind the great walls a mere baum from where we stand now. So long as we did not open the gate, we held an unbeatable adavantage over the Zetegineans, for not even the Highlanders possessed a weapon capable of breaching the walls in good time. For three days and three nights we held firm against the onslaught. Then... _this_ traitor led the enemy through the gate in the middle of the night, and so the capital fell, and so King Gran was usurped and killed."

Canny beyond her years, Banya clearly did not believe the tale, but the drama with which Lans had recounted the story still left her aback. "So that is the story everyone heard", she sighed. "T'was not enough to destroy our people and homes, but they have arranged for a great hero to take the blame for it as well."

"He is NOT a great hero!", Lans snapped back, his patience at last exhausted. "And the story of his treachery is not yet over. The day after the capital fell, an executioner's block was crafted in the city square for the royal family... All of them. Gran's wife, his aunts and uncles, his nieces and nephews. His three virtuous daughters and two sons, Jan and Tristan. His brothers and sisters. All were slain that day by a great two-handed axe, one of them after the other, over thirty all told. And when the very last one was dead... The executioner removed his mask for Gran himself to see before they killed him too. It was Captain Ashe. The man before us now, the man you defend." He spat.

Banya was thoughtful, looking at her friend's face for any trace of confirmation of these blistering accusations. "Your sword, knight", she suddenly demanded of him. "I want show you something." Seeing his reluctance, she snorted. "Are you truly so paranoid that you cannot trust the intentions of a man and woman older than you? What sort of knight are you?"

Lans considered it, looking down at his heavy gear. Even if Banya attacked him with the sword it would be easily blocked, and in any case if she meant him harm, Talos would be a much more effective method. Slowly, he set the blade down. Instead of taking it for himself, she passed the weapon down to Ashe's left hand, who held the weapon with the practiced ease of a lifetime veteran.

Lans shrugged. "So?"

Leaning over, she helped Ashe shift the blade into his other hand. No sooner had she done so than the man left the blade clattering on the floor. "Sir Ashe is left-handed", Banya explained patiently. "Even back when he was Captain of the Guard, his right hand was crippled by Sebastian's Plague back before a cure was found. Think back. You were obviously present in the crowd when Gran's family was executed. Which hand did the executioner do the deed with?"

His visored helmet could do nothing to hide the shock slowly spreading over his features. He felt his heart waiting to leap from his throat. "The right hand at the pommel, left hand at the end of the shaft", he breathed out weakly. "But... I don't understand. How?"

Nearly forgotten, Ashe gave a phlegmy laugh. "Can you not guess, young Lancelot? You've spent enough time around wizards to understand their rapport with the old Gods, and our capital was built near some of the strongest ley points of the time."

Talos flinched. Perhaps even those outside the walls of By'roit were wondering who was cursing so loudly and with such creative terms. "**Rashidi**", Lans whispered, so chilled by the revelation that he neglected to yell at the older knight for calling him Lancelot again. "It was Rashidi all along. He, or one of his pupils, weaved a spell of illusion upon the crowds- including myself- to make the executioner appear to be you beneath the mask."

Ashe nodded sadly. "You know your history, my friend. Who in the Empire is most famous for using such a weapon?"

Lans cursed again. "Prince Gares. The butcher of the north. He is the only man who could do such a thing without showing any signs of regret or uncertainty. His laugh, but your voice." He shuddered.

"See?", Banya said to Ashe. "Even this stuffy fool knows that you've done no real wrong. Failure is not a crime, Sir Ashe. It was out of your hands. Now eat."

For once tamed by the fire in her, the ex-captain munched on the round loaf she provided while Lans went back over the events of the fall in remorse, now pillaging extinct languages for new curses. "And I suppose you did not actually slay three guards and open the gate either", he prodded. "T'was more than likely it was Rashidi, or someone else working for him, once again disguised as you, the one warrior who might be able to oppose the Empire after Gran's death."

"He fooled us all", Banya acknowledged, offering Lans a drink. "Who was more loyal than Rashidi Light, one of the legendary five heroes of Zenobia? Particularly to his fellow hero? Not once before the Empire did the Sage of Light ever give a sign of dislike for Gran."

"You don't seem particularly angry, maid", Lans noted.

"T'was a lifetime ago", Ashe offered neutrally, standing again. "Not that it does not still affect us, but twenty-four years is enough time to let even the greatest flames of hatred simmer into embers."

"Not for me." Lans spat, still feeling anger towards the man no matter how much it had been diluted by today's revelations. Rashidi, he could not feel any more wrathful towards than he already did. "What happened to you afterwards, captain? Why did you not try to avenge our lord? Without you, I was forced to take command of our survivors before I was ready. I... I did not fare well. To put it mildly."

"Ten thousand people saw me execute their king", Ashe offered gently. "And spread that tale to their sons and daughters. What do you think would be the reaction if I showed up to lead you? Besides, I knew then, it was a hopeless endeavour that my presence could not change. As it is now."

Understanding that, Lans regarded his old commander warily. "Not now. Things _have_ changed, my friend. It is not like before- the Empire has only deployed the tithe of their forces here. I do not say it will be easy, but at sir Destin's side I have seen miracles occur. Come with us, Captain Ashe. Reclaim your honour and clear your name. I promise on my manhood to spread the truth to all who will listen."

The Captain did not seem impressed, and at once Lans could not ignore the scars and liver spots lining his features. "Banya brings us news from the outside world. So I know they still have a Deva in command", he reminded Lans. "An elite. Even in my prime, those four were too much for me. I'm sixty-nine summers old, my friend. Most of my friends have already gone on to the next world to meet their judgement from the Gods. But for this marvellous lady, I'd have already joined them."

"I hold you to your oath", Lans pressed. "Gran must be avenged."

Ashe gave a faint chuckle. "I somehow doubt he cares, wherever he is now."

"_I_ care", he shot back furiously, offering Ashe the hilt of his sword. "Sir Ashe. When you commanded the Zenobian knights, you were the standard to which all of us aspired. You offered justice with one hand and slew the wicked with the other, and you did so without forgetting that kingdoms are nothing without their hundreds of thousands of commoners. Speaking from experience, I cannot believe that mere age has transformed the greatest warrior of our time into a doddering _coward_."

The speed with which Ashe sat up and put the sword to Lans' throat demonstrated just how right he was. No knight worth his steel would stand such insults. However hopeful that brief spark seemed, Ashe yet withheld. "You don't need me, friend. I'm just an old soldier in dire need of rest. I'd be a hindrance. I'd-"

Lans decked him over Banya's shrill protests. "You can still carry a sword", he admonished. "The Captain Ashe I knew would never permit this injustice to pass. I ask you- does he yet live?"

It was amazing, Lans thought inwardly as Ashe considered. Fifty-eight summers of his own and never before had he felt this strange rush surging in his blood. Because their lives had been so similar, the right words and actions to take seemed to pop to the top of his head almost immediately.

_This_ was how sir Destin convinced others to join the rebels. How he had made Canopus Walf once again willing to work with humans after a terrible betrayal, how he had talked Sir Tomas Neralai out of suicide. Even how he had rebuked Kapella Radigan's accusations that the rebel dream was not his own, if Selec Fubuki's tale was to be believed. _Deep within, we all operate by the same basic elements of pride and equity. Men and women young and old, animals, ghosts and dragons and even werewolves... It requires a very special individual to push the right buttons. To unite these disparate folk in a common cause. That, not his swordsmanship or endurance, is his greatest gift._

And he understood just as quickly that Sirius had been right all along. If ever this young man, rare as Malanian crystal, were destroyed or corrupted, the rebels would have no hope, no chance of victory. Never again would he underestimate the power of persuasion, even if he lacked in it around any but a fellow knight of Zenobia. Both of them stood, silently united in their reminiscence of better days, of days long gone.

* * *

As he stalked along the rebel battle line, Bors heard prayers being recited to a dozen different Gods but did not interfere. There was very little time left now before the first Imperial squadron would be upon them, and the slightest twitch could be taken ill. Ironic, really. Most Zenobians, himself included, believed the Gods dwelled high above the clouds in a realm forever separate from Earth, a mirror of how the mythical Ogres were sealed deep within the molten fissures of the world. Yet now the first attack by their real enemy, thus far signified by a large cluster of black dots against blue sky would descend from the above, with many of its number beautiful enough to be the divine ones in disguise. Just one more reason to reaffirm that the rebel cause was worthy and righteous.

Passing a group of archers practising on the swarm of crows that had gathered, he saw the other division chiefs finishing up their own plans before departing. Once things got complicated, each division would mostly be on their own to follow its general goals as prescribed by their chief. If another group next to them was torn apart by valkyrie lightning, or boxed in and massacred by the enemy, it would be up to them to prevent their people from panicking or breaking file. The fact that Bors' people were in the second line and would witness many fall in the first before they even drew their blades would be countered by their experience- nearly all of his people were veteran knights from the first rebellion twelve years back. Those who weren't wouldn't dare break when surrounded by older, stronger men watchful against such cowardice.

The fighters from the slums remained an unknown quality. A pack of local volunteers assembled off to the left of Bors' division under the temporary leadership of Liat, it was yet to be seen if the new civillian recruits had the spine and steel to match their big talk of overthrowing governor Darian. Chaos and death would bring out their true colors, as it had every other man Bors had ever known.

For once, Selec Fubuki did not look like he'd smelled something rank upon seeing the knight leader, instead giving a small nod behind the face mask that was all he needed to see. "Not scared, are yeh?"

The samurai raised his sheathed blade. The backup one again, with only nine kill marks. Even though the forgers had finally gotten around to remaking lost or destroyed weapons, Fubuki was too pessimistic to try a brand new katana in a fight of this magnitude, not before he'd put it through its paces in a more peaceful setting. _And tested it until he knew where the shatter point was._ "Never."

"No?", he grinned, raising his metal visor in hope that he'd finally get to see the other man's face. "Never seen a scuffle o' this size, I'll bet. Yeh weren't here when the Empire attacked the capital, an' there hasn't been one to equal that since. Well, maybe the vampire nest in Kastalpe-"

The old disdain rising in him, Fubuki stood. "I was off in Deneuve fighting for my Order when Zenobia fell, knight. Against the Ninja Order."

Ah. This old rivalry again. The same story from every easterling warrior he talked to of Denueve's civil war between the Ninja and Samurai Orders. He would have offered the younger man some mead if they weren't going to be needed sober soon. "And that battle was big as this one?"

Fubuki scanned the skies, noting how the swarm of flying black dots had grown in size and number. "Hard to say until we start. I would wager there were at least two hundred ninja at the battle of Antioch- half of them Masters, of course- and more than that of my own people. That was my first battle."

This surprised Bors. "An' yeh lived, boy?" Though it seemed a foolish question, the scale of such a thing gave it validity, else the samurai was simply lying to impress him.

His fellow chief gave a harsh laugh. "Watch your tongue, knight. I'm no boy, though I'd say I was then... Liat saved me. Took a shuriken that would have pierced my heart. Instead, it pierced him."

"Not hard t' guess where", he said. "Friends, are yeh?"

"Hardly", Fubuki said. "We competed in everything from boating to women. When I was excommunicated, the true surprise wasn't that he was as well, for the same crime, but that he chose to stay with me afterwards. I kept waiting for the moment when he attempts to take vengeance for his eye. I'm still waiting for it."

"Sounds like a friend to me", Bors observed. The other chief grunted. "I would've thought you'd be more focused on what lies ahead, knight, not on gossip."

"And I'd have thought the same of yeh." He spread both arms wide. "But here we are, yapping like an old married couple. Guess ol' Destin's got the right idea after all, eh? Gods guide your blade, samurai."

"And yours, knight", he said back after a moment or two. "Looks like it's begun", he nodded toward the opening in the clouds before the first line. Dozens of black dots had swelled into hundreds, and the first of those hundreds were growing into distinct shapes with flapping wings. Bors returned to his own division, which needed little in the way of a pep talk. He gave them one anyway, filled with obscene descriptions of the Imperials' mothers and what they would do to those who broke past the first line.

He was rather good at them, all things considered. Some commanders were and some weren't, and some never even tried out of some misplaced sense of courtesy, but for captain Bors there was nothing to take the edge off a battle's tension quite like throwing your best adult insults at the enemy before things got hectic.

Finishing just in time, he lowered his visor and raised his helmet to watch the flapping figures begin to descend. Some of these were, in fact, crashes caused by severe injury to the flying beasts from either the first volley of arrows, the efforts of Canopus and Gilbert's flying divisions, or the ghosts' own attack. It was impossible to tell at this distance and this late in the day. Frazzled by the swift drop but not beaten, most of the riders- particularly the valkyries- had managed to cushion their crash landings in mostly the same area, and now thirty or more figures arose in front of the first line to attack head-on. Growling, Bors motioned his people back. This was unexpected, but them breaking off to engage out of turn would only make things worse. They would just have to wait and hope that the attacked portion could handle it.

Lowering his eyes from the flying formation and the impossible rain of arrows now hurling into it, he looked over the aforementioned portion. Warren's spellcasting acolytes seemed more numerous than before. They shared equal space with the Roshian clerics there, but the presence of Ruclomb and Pheles eased the stirring in his bones somewhat. Withheld by their master, one dodged a lightning bolt while the other loosed a frightful howl that would weed out any amateurs in the Imperial line through flinching.

There were none. Bors whistled, watching Warren unleash his own attack, a darkened sphere of some shifting, undefinable substance that he'd never seen the Moon Sage use before. Whatever the stuff was, the valkyrie struck by it let out a fearful shriek before collapsing to the grass. Another fell to a concentrated arrow barrage, but that was all the Sage was willing to risk. Now he motioned to his entire group, the centre part of the first line, back in time to prevent them from being overwhelmed. Now it would fall to Bors' veterans to safeguard that core, luring the survivors deeper in. They couldn't help but-

He leapt forward, feeling his heart nearly give out right there for the shock he'd received. Still better, he digressed, than the shock from above that had struck one of the armoured men beside him. In all the ruckus he'd lost track of the main group, which had flown past the now-distracted archers to deliver death from above to the second line. Something not quite a magical lightning bolt but equally as fast touched down a ways to his left, and left behind it a rising cloud of oddly shiny dust. When that faded, those around the unlucky victim fell back from their comrade, expressions of unshakable fear showing beneath their helmet visors. There was nothing left of the target but a small, diamond-shaped rock, dark green just like the man's armour had been.

"It's fine, lads!", he called over the growing din. "He's not dead, jus' petrified! Couple hours and he'll be back to normal right enough!" All the same, his heart was pounding and breath short. This was not the way their leader had expected things to go. The main force was now past Bors' group nearly unhindered, and closing on what was meant to be the final defence- Destin's own division. If Kaus Debonair was among that force, there would be no way for the rebels to stop him from pouncing from behind and slaying their leader.

Were the Sage to be believed, that would mean the end of the second Zenobian revolution right there.

Rallying every uninjured man, in his division to him, he stopped on the verge of gesturing towards El Rangen with his broadsword, cursed. They were expected to act as a defence for Warren's group, one that was badly needed from the way the original strike force was cutting through the recruits that stood before them, only 20 meters or so from Bors himself now. He could see Eagle clanners, some of the Empires's own wizards, and of course the valkyria working their way up already, one coming within spitting distance of his position before Pheles mauled her.

Decision time. The petrified and injured lay thicker around him now, but a good division leader would be able to think on his feet regardless of the screams erupting all about him. Hold the front or charge off to save Destin from certain death? Looking to Warren, he saw an imperceptible nod from the older man and cursed. This was no way to wage a defence.

"GIDEON!", he railed out the name of his closest subordinate in hope that his goateed second-in-command yet lived. "GET UP FRONT! I'LL TAKE THE REAR! KUMO AND LYDWYN TO ME!"

There was no way of knowing if Gideon heard and no time to check. The rising trill coming from all around the two lines would have drowned it out anyway. An echoing, undulating wail from nearly a hundred throats and tongues honed over the years to unnerve the enemies of the Empire and inspire its soldiers. The valkyrie battle cry. His divsions' counter-yell of "LONG LIFE TO GRAN" suddenly seemed less adequate, and the cry of "FIGHT IT OUT!" up behind them even more so.

At least Kumo had made it, he noticed with a brief smile. The easterling knight matched his leader's pace despite their armour, both running to intercept the pack of flapping figures now descending into shot range of Destin's group and prompting a hail of arrows to start rising up into them. He could see the rebel leader there on the hilltop, bellowing orders and rearranging his formation as best he could against so many. Ironically, their sprint up the hill went undisturbed- a flight of Cockatrices tried to pounce only for Canopus' people to show up and tear them to shreds in a dogfight. To the right a squadron of enemy wizards had overextended themselves in pursuit and encountered Liat's raw recruits. Canopus certainly would have joined Bors in the rush to the rear in fact, but for the sudden appearance of two green dragons and two Eagle clanners over the horizon, chasing the rebel air unit away for parts of the sky unknown.

Peeking over to his left, he saw Fubuki's twenty men engaged with two more of the huge green reptiles and finding them equally difficult even with their leader freely using devastating his 'Ianuki' spirit technique. _Good hunting, samurai. _Greens might have been the weakest brood of dragonkin, more of a growing-up phase for them than anything before they reached adulthood and their scales changed colour, but they were still Dragons and still twelve feet tall behemoths of scales and claws and teeth. That division had their work cut out for them.

He and Kumo were the only ones in a position to see the drop as it happened. Five flying mounts peeling off from the main group and descending right towards Destin's position. Three were quickly shot, but their riders had expected it, immediately dismounting and falling the remaining distance down. Familiar lightning flared out, felling a row of archers and scattering the rest of the division. Though outnumbered, the five were fighting with enough skill and coordination that it seemed forever before the division could regain some kind of coordinated defence.

He managed to get within meters before witnessing another sight that turned his knees to ice regardless of his thirty years in the Zenobian guard. One of the attackers, likely the drop leader, had brought her halberd weapon down on Destin as she fell from the sky- the other attacks had only been diversions to isolate the rebel leader. Destin's body did not fly back, simply battered to the ground with a dent in his helmet that left no doubt that his skull had been cracked. Slain, or else so badly muddled that like Bors' own father he would never be able to command or fight again. The same result for the rebellion either way. Defeat. The end of all their hopes, and a certain retribution against all those who had aided them.

He shivered. No. No. He dared not think it. Perhaps Warren had been wrong. Perhaps the blow wasn't as severe as it looked. Regaining his serenity, he screamed and charged the assassin while Kumo intercepted the closest enemy knight. Just as usual, as Bors preferred it, when facing an opponent in a sea of friends and foes after a battle line was broken, the amount of focus one placed on their target reduced the rest of it to something only slightly above background noise, so that such a battle broke down into a vast multitude of smaller duels packed tight against one another. Situational awareness was never his forte, and now that he recognized Destin's assassin he knew he would need all of his skill to avenge his lord.

It was Captain Liana ap Fordrannon, one of Kaus Debonair's commanders from the morning's parlay, who stood crowing over Destin's fallen body. Thankfully most of the army hadn't yet realized he was slain, for they continued to fight on. Bors approached in a stance of open menace, rage clouding his normally charming voice into a beast's bark. "Over here, missy, and yeh'll fight a real warrior."

Looking insulted, Liana kicked the red-armoured body over, trying to remove the helmet with her halberd so as to be sure of her kill. Her black hair and skin seemed to glow amidst the fireballs and lightning bolts being hurled around "Not much point to it now, _haaswein_. But what's one more bit of Zenobian dung smeared into the ground?" Leaping from the body in a single bound, she brought the pole weapon down on Bors' shield, rolling away before his sword could connect. Generating her own bolt of lightning from the halberd, she was momentarily surprised to see the shield absorb that as well, leaving Bors the time to take a number of shots at her.

Both rolled again, Bors avoiding a close-range bolt and Liana avoiding a stray arrow. The valkyrie came up with her weapon spinning in one hand, powerful but only a diversion for her to drive the other arm beneath the man's shield and break the straps holding it to his arm with practised ease. Not allowing himself to be stunned by the sudden loss of his protection, the southerling knight ran his sword across Liana's leg, leaving a messy line of red right through her armour before she could get away. Feeling the sheet of steel drop off, he flexed his blade about to emphasize his newfound mobility.

The warrior woman was not impressed. She began to charge the blue energy in her halberd again, only halfway done before Bors' own, heavier blade knocked it aside, trimming it's bottom on the backswing. Unconcerned, she put her own weapon forward into Bors' chest plate.

The entire world seemed to phase in and out. Bors knew his limbs were thrashing about, trying in vain to channel the lightning that had just been pumped into his system, but could not feel them as they did it. It was a struggle just to remain conscious and grit one's teeth bloody until he regained feeling in his sword arm, bringing it back but not fast enough to catch his foe. He lowered into a wide swing, crying out in surprise as she lept clean over his head with another resounding strike to his helmet. Or perhaps that was just the pain of that hit, but either way he _was_ surprised. He'd have expected this from Debonair, but such a leap did not seem terribly unique among the rest of the Imperial soldiers he caught glimpses of as he wheeled around.

Not in twenty-four years had he witnessed such coordination, such expertise, such all-around strength in every movement and strike as they drove back the rest of Destin's men. Not flawless, but clearly superior to the rebels. If _he _couldn't match an Imperial soldier, even a division leader, then what chance did the younglings have here? For now, his bulky armour was holding up against repeated blows from the halberd, each too fast to stop, but one more lightning strike and it wouldn't matter. He felt like a metal drum.

"Enough!" Liana went in for the killing blow, trying to drive the undamaged end's spike into Bors' heart, which battered armour could not stop. A screech of overstressed metal rang out, but it was Bors who gave the grin of the victorious- he'd twisted at the last second, allowing the weapon to penetrate deep into the steel. Too deep. The pain was very real- he estimated less than five minutes before his body would simply give up- but there the halberd remained stuck. He shifted again, and the long pole brought its owner up with it. Straight into a forward slash on his left side, accomplishing much the same thing against lighter and weaker armour.

The valkyrie cursed and sputtered as she fell back, but it was clear she had about as long to live as Bors himself. No amount of training could overcome having your inner organs pierced. He chuckled over a hacking cough. For all the other types the Empire was fielding today, he had not yet seen a single Cleric. He might have a chance to live past today, but the valkyrie chief would not. He had won.

That notion did not quite fill him with as much joy as it would have, had his lord still been alive to see it.

Liana ap Fordrannon died choking and foaming, unable to muster a final taunt for the pain that surely dominated her perception as it nearly did Bors'. Ignoring the body, he limped back towards Destin's, arms too exhausted to rise in prayer to the Twenty-Two that his injury had not in fact been mortal.

Destin lay face down in the grass, unmoving. His body felt numb and Bors was initially reluctant to move it. After several seconds he twisted the red suit from the left, raising it up before letting the man's face peer up at the sky instead. It was nearly the sky of the evening now, with only a few rays of daylight mingling with the clouds. As always happened in Bors' experience, heavy fighting distorted one's sense of time, so that hours of bloodstained violence could pass in no time at all.

Seeing the face of the body made Bors go still, his vision cloudy. It seemed an impossibility, but the closer he looked the better he understood. "Gran's bones!"

This was_ not_ Destin. It had the same armour as him, distinctive and elegant, and similar hair protruding out from beneath the smashed helmet. It would fool most of the rebels if the man had been any good at imitating the young man's voice. But Bors had spent countless meetings looking Destin ap Neb in the face close up and he knew at first glance that this man, whoever he was, could not possibly be him. If anything he actually looked a slight younger than the rebel leader, with better cheekbones and hazel-brown eyes now stretched open to their absolute limit.

Bors felt a hand on his shoulder. Twisting, he saw three more people standing around him and Liana and Not-Destin's body, a valkyrie and two wizards all bearing Imperial red on their cuffs.

Not one of them looked happy. As looked around he saw there were no warriors in blue close enough to intervene. His divison, all of the brave men under him, were doomed. "Captain Liana", the wizard growled. "You killed her?"

He could not stand, only balance himself on his crumpled legs so as to face the three with whatever emotions he could muster up. Most of them, such as his pride, made him want to laugh at the whole situation "_Aye_. Wanna fight abou' it?"

"At least the rebel leader is dead", the valkyrie noted. She had to have been friends with Liana from the tearful tone of her voice. "She'll be honoured as a hero in the histories of Zeteginea."

"She'll be honoured as a fool", Bors countered. An angry strike from the new valkyrie's halberd knocked him sprawling, but he only laughed harder. "She'll be remembered as a foolish, idiotic whore who killed the wrong man! Have a look, yeh bastards! This ain't Destin! He's alive! Alive, and one day he'll come and KILL YEH ALL!"

Another pike-thrust struck lines of red across his vision but did not stop his throat, nor his mad laughter. "He'll rip General Debonair's heart out of his body an' mount it on his WALL! He'll tear Rashidi's head off an' piss in the STUMP! He'll-"

The third strike came down. He died before he could elaborate on what he hoped Destin would do to the Black Queen.


	11. Number One

**Number One**

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**Tarot VII - Chariot**

_The Fool is close to finishing what he set out to complete long ago, back when the Magician revealed those tools to him. But enemies are now standing in his way, devious human enemies, bad circumstances, even confusion in his own mind. There is no more forward momentum; he feels he is fighting just to stay where he is. Walking along the shore, watching the waves come in, he puzzles over how to defeat these great enemies and get things moving forward once again. _

_It is here that he comes across a charioteer, standing in his gold and silver chariot, his black and white steeds at rest. "You seem a victorious warrior," the Fool remarks. "Tell me, what is the best way to defeat an enemy?" The Charioteer nods out at the ocean. "Have you ever been swimming in the water, and been trapped in that tide which pulls you out to sea? If you try to swim forward, head-on, you go nowhere. You swim forward, the tide pulls you back and, if you tire yourself out, you drown. The only way to win without sapping all your energy is to swim parallel to shore, and come in slowly, diagonally. So, too, when fighting in a chariot. You win by coming up alongside that which you wish to defeat." The warrior nods to his beasts. "Your steeds keep the wheels turning, but it is your control and direction that brings victory. Dark and light, they must be made to draw in harmony, under your guidance." _

_The Fool is impressed and inspired. He thinks he now knows how to win his own war. He thanks the warrior, but before he leaves, the warrior stays the Fool, "One thing more," he says, "no victory can be won unless you have unwavering confidence in your cause. And remember this above all, victory is not merely the end. It is only the beginning."_

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Kaus Debonair gripped the reins of his mount tightly as it swooped across the blasted plains about El Rangen. He nearly considered it amusing that the red-scaled dragon, whom he named Meragaus, visibly showed more of a reaction to it than he did. Debonair did not think the dragon weak. He had his training and years of experience with such sights, whereas Meragaus had likely never before seen its own kind killed, or even injured. Not many beings could easily harm a dragon save for another dragon, of which the rebels had none. The creature crooned softly as it flew, perhaps more capable than Imperial tamers realized of grasping just what had occurred down there, and what was still happening in areas beyond his sight. _Poor thing._

Against all his preparations and strategies, against his own desires, both armies had taken major losses from repeated attempts to reach and kill Destin of house Naught. The remains of this now littered the field, a panorama of tragedy that he forced himself not to look away from. If Meragaus could take it then so could he. Little things like that were how one kept a dragon's respect, something he would not have had to consider with any other animal. In fact most of the others would have looked on the sight below as a feast, hurrying to get some meat before the pack of crows took the good bits.

He wanted to believe it was made all the more senseless by the fact that Destin had apparently escaped his demise. A man wearing the rebel leader's special armour had been found dead, but closer inspection revealed that this was not the same as the young man he'd confronted before. An old trick, and not one he would have expected an inexperienced commander like Destin to use. _He must have known, deep down, that he would lose._

That notion was at odds with his initial appraisal of the man, but the truth lay before him. It was always possible that for all his talk about preserving lives, Destin might allow his people to die to buy time for him to get to safety. Like the most loathsome of district governors he would sacrifice his entire loyal army to live another day. The very concept angered Debonair, made him pull Meragaus into turns tighter than was comfortable. Hearing a growl of complaint from below, he pulled to a stop just in time to pull even with one of his chief lieutenants, the valkyrie Rhea of house Luvalon, as dark-skinned and snow-haired as her stoic father.

"Report", he ordered calmly as if he'd braked near her completely on purpose.

Luvalon's daughter almost always looked glum, but in this case it was clear the sight of the field beneath them disgusted her as much as it did him. "We've completed the salvage, lord Debonair. Thirty and five valkyries dead or crippled including Liana, plus twenty more of various other types. All their mounts dead as well. The Eagle man division was hit particularly hard."

"The Wind Rider has lost none of his bite, I see", the general remarked sadly. He'd known the leader of their Eagle man division personally- a bird man of red wings and poor card-playing skills with the habit of eating his meals at odd moments. He would devoutly miss him. On the flip side, no one had reported any sign of Canopus Walf being brought down, despite sustained efforts by dragons and other Imperial flyers. Just like twenty-four years ago, the Hawk clan's leader was an absolute terror in the skies, and the loss of several of his comrades would only have the same affect on him as it did on Debonair. "Estimates of rebel casualties?"

"Sketchy", Rhea admitted grimly. "A dozen normal soldiers, archers and more than a dozen knights slain if you include the rebel leader's decoy. Three samurai, six wizards, and six clerics, along with most of the civilian volunteers. One Hawk man downed a hundred feet over a lake, and one Wyrm confirmed dead."

_At least sixty still alive_, he noted to himself in surprise, his cold veneer imploding. In the face of a professionally-trained army corps twice their size and more mobile, the rebels had regardless achieved a superior kill rate; nearly two-for-one. Killed Liana of house Fordrannon, a Captain who had never once tired or slacked in her training to become a Muse despite not being _Einherjar_. Incredible. Small wonder that the district governors had lost. But what was it that gave them such strength? How could such a heterogeneous army fight so _well_?

"No survivors_?"_

Rhea looked up, the ghost of a smile on her lips. "One, my lord. He was petrified by a cockatrice but not shattered like the rest. Namash kept everyone back, stopped them from shattering him too."

Beside him, Meragaus began to purr. Debonair studied the field for signs of shattered rocks and shuddered, remembering well the ugly result of the Cockatrice's petrifying stare combined with blunt-force weapons. Of course any petrified rebel whom was not saved by their comrades would either be smashed out of spite, or more preferably taken prisoner. "He may have just earned Liana's position", he said, glorying in the look of mock-horror Rhea adopted. Namash, a Doll Mage of infinite jest, commanded the recon division's spellcasters, and would not be respected at all by most valkyria or knights. "Take me to the prisoner."

Both took off, sweeping back over another stretch of wasted lives before the field began to clear up again. As it gave way to one of the number of camps the Imperial army had struck up for the night, Debonair's dragon and Rhea's cockatrice both settled to the ground.

The rebel prisoner was waiting for them, held fast by two valkyries and stripped of his knight's armour down to his briefs once the petrification had worn off. Curly brown hair and a soft visage made him look nearly androgynous, an accusation Debonair himself had faced many times. He felt a kinship of sorts to the knight. More often than not, such a man in an army would work harder than the rest to prove themselves masculine to their peers, and would more than likely make a stupid, suicidal move in their efforts to become 'a real man'.

"Greetings", Debonair started, trying to maintain some degree of courtesy. The rebel knight spat on his boots, and he paid it no mind even if Rhea and the others looked ready to murder. "You're lucky to be alive, you know. Good fortune for us all."

"I'll never tell you where they are", the knight grunted. "Imperial dog!"

"Rebel scum!", Rhea shot back in a rare moment of emotion, looking ready to strike him.

"That will do, Lady Luvalon", Debonair waved her away. The knight did not blanch at the mention of her famous surname, but Debonair's presence would be enough to cow him as he drew closer, laying one firm hand on the man's shoulder.

"I don't need you to talk to me", Debonair informed him matter-of-factly. "Really, now. Anyone with half a brain can guess where you rebels have fled to. I could launch another attack right now and destroy that Roshian Temple." He tightened his grip a notch, causing the man to cry out from the strain, if not the surprise of the fact that he knew their chosen hiding spot. "But first, I thought perhaps you might be willing to talk _for_ me."

He could almost _hear _the knight's thin layer of bravado cracking as he nodded. As expected, this one wasn't one of Lancelot's hardened veterans who would die uselessly rather than help him. He had to be fresh, a part of the reserve of young adults Destin had rallied to his banner early on, then promoted from soldier to knight before they were ready. "You're from Sharom, are you?"

The young man shook his head. "J-Janneia. I joined up when they killed Lord S-S-Sirius."

Debonair smirked. "Good for them. Help us now, help us end this war, and I swear on the Goddess Freya's name that I'll ensure that no retribution will be exacted against your home district. Your friends will be spared. Your_ family_ will be spared. And I promise you'll not get another Werewolf as a governor. All of this will be, if you simply deliver a message for me when we send you back to the rebels."

The knight nodded, listening.

"Commit this to memory, then..."

* * *

"You have fought bravely", sir Reldin recited slowly, nervously. "Against impossible odds, and despite that still escaped with half your force intact. But you must know now that you cannot defeat a professional army of such size. Understand that I, 1st Deva Kaus Debonair, deliberately excluded myself from the previous battle. Your chiefs will confirm that such was a great kindness. What you faced was only the vanguard of things to come. Even if it were not, there is no way for you to breach the walls of Zenobia. You cannot win."

Seated backwards on a chair among the rest of the division chiefs, Destin inclined his head and motioned for the androgynous knight to continue. None of them dared speak.

"Now that you might better understand your situation, I offer you a final chance", Reldin continued. "Surrender yourself into my custody, and I swear on my honour that the rest of your people will not be attacked if they do not attack us. They may flee wherever they wish to and we shall not pursue. You have until lunchtime tomorrow to present yourself at the trade city of Filia. Come alone." Finishing, he slackened, then looked pleadingly at the rebel leader. "Sir. You _can't_. Don't give in to him, we can't trust those Highland bastards to keep their word-"

"Silence", Destin cut him off with surprising bite. "Thank you for delivering that message, sir Reldin, it must have been difficult for you to memorize. Are you injured?"

"No sir. All they did was take away my armour and weapons." Like Destin, Reldin now wore a simple cloth tunic common to Zenobian peasants. Though he had been returned bearing armour, it was Destin's red armour, given back to its owner as a show of good faith and appreciation of it's craftsmanship.

As Selec Fubuki had pointed out, it was about more than that though. An acknowledgement of Destin's use of a decoy and an expression of mild irritation over the use of such a tactic when all Kaus Debonair wanted was to slay one rebel and return to the Lodis staging area. An obvious giveaway that the Imperial army did indeed know that the rebels had removed themselves to the tenuous safety of a Roshian Temple far to the south of the capital, and it was only the general's sense of mercy that had stopped them from attacking there as well. A myriad of meanings, wrapped up in armour Destin had wanted to become _his_ symbol.

"Put it in the armoury wagons", he commanded of Reldin, idly flicking one finger off the strong metal. "I'll retrieve it later. You'll be under Lans' division once we find you a new set of equipment."

"Yes sir."

Once the nervous knight had left them, an oppressive silence descended upon the room. Each of the division chiefs assembled there had things to talk about, but each held enough respect for their commander now that they would for him to break the ice.

Only he didn't. The rebel leader sat there, hunched over, drumming his fingers off the table. A minute passed, and Canopus could take no more. He coughed. "I investigated the capital after the battle, sir. As we feared, the slums are currently occupied by the Imperial ground forces we didn't see at the battle. I saw more than a hundred. Though Gilbert and my people can cross the walls, we'd be no match."

Destin said nothing. His eyes were shut.

"I must concur with sir Reldin", Gilbert said. "However honourable general Debonair may be, whoever is assigned to punish Zenobia for this rebellion will likely as not be another butcher like Sirius or Usar. I hear that Gares the Black Knight is in town, currently on Avalon not far from here, quelling the Order's convocation. If _he_ is given the task, then we shall be lucky to have a country left afterwards. Debonair cannot protect us. He is too loyal to the Empress."

"What's the alternative?", Fubuki wondered aloud. "Hole up here until Kaus gets around to killing us all? We can't attack the slums. It's impossible without the help of someone on the inside, as the Empire learned when they took it. They have a place to recover and rebuild from that we cannot assail, and their army is still a great deal larger and more skilled than ours. A war of attrition will see all of us dead." Lowering his head so that the crest on his helmet matched eye level, he sighed. This was not what he had wanted. "My lord... I believe the best possible alternative is a retreat. Fall back to Valparin Peaks or the Pogrom Forest, let them chase us, stringing them out so we can whittle down their numbers."

"And how would that look to the people?", Lans prodded, angry at the mercenary's suggestion. "T'would look as though we'd given up on victory, sir Destin. The healthy stream of volunteers that saw us this far would drop to a mere trickle. Debonair is too smart to fall for such a ploy anyway."

"Sir Gilbert spoke of the Black Knight", Sister Yenda chipped in, usually silent at such meetings but today she seemed unusually somber. "I've just gotten word from Avalon- Grand Monk Forris has been caught by Gares. She is scheduled for execution tomorrow."

That prompted several creative curses from around the table, particularly from those who had known the Grand Monk as friend. "Which means", Blaine deduced, "that in a few days' time, Gares can come here and kill us all personally. Debonair won't be able to hold him back. Sorry boss, but it looks like it's now or never."

Eyes still shut, Destin stood. Warren Moon felt himself and several of the other chiefs holding their breath. Was this it? Had these various pressures finally pushed their leader too far?

"Before you say anything", he announced with one sharp eye towards Lans. "Yes, I did plan that decoy. From the moment I finished our initial meeting with the Deva, I could tell that he desired to kill me and only me, so as to prevent large-scale losses on either side. I knew that he had a plan to track the one wearing my armour from the air, and send the bulk of his forces straight for me."

Destin could feel the flush of antagonism from several in the room. Lans, at least, felt such a tactic to be cowardly and dishonourable. Coupled with sparing Deneb, Bors' death and the way he'd sent the knight captain away just before the main battle, he would not be surprised to see him holding a grudge for some time. He swore to the Twenty-Two that if they survived tomorrow he would find some way to make amends. Somehow...

"I was in Warren's division at the time, disguised as a wizard. I'm sorry for keeping this from all of you, but we know the Empire has at least one spy among us. Warren was the only one I could fully trust. The plan was to pounce on the enemy strike force from behind, but their diversionary attackers were too strong. We couldn't get through to Jennifer's group. If Bors hadn't broken rank-"

"Don't", Lans cut him off. "Don't you DARE besmirch his name, sir. He was the finest warrior I have ever commanded. If there is fault to be had, then it is yours."

He gave the captain a haunted look. He knew the feeling, knowing Bors had died at El Rangen. He'd felt much the same when he'd heard of Jennifer Argyle's death by a barrage of lightning, and that of Fasald, the man in his division who had volunteered to be his decoy. "I wasn't about to blame our defeat on a dead man, brother. I knew from the start that this army was- is- stronger than any enemy we'd faced before. I just didn't appreciate how much so until now."

"So what now?", Canopus asked impatiently. "Will you truly give yourself up at Filia tomorrow?"

His mind was made up, but still Destin hesitated to answer. "No. Sir Gilbert's logic is sound. Better a slim chance of victory than a surrender that will yield the same result. I know many people here who would rather die than lose."

"Well I'm not one of those", Blaine said flatly. "Stang. Sixty against two hundred and an Imperial Deva? No amount of Goth is worth dying for."

"And the game?", Destin called to the magi's turned back.

"The game is just about over. Much as I don't like it."

He stalked out the door and Gilbert rose to bring him back, but Destin raised one hand for him to stop. Sure enough, thirty seconds afterward the doll mage burst back through the exact same door, fuming. "All right, _all right_! Fine! We're still on, but I want double the pay, Destin! 4,000 Goth, every day!"

He nodded politely at the dramatics. "You shall have it. In any case, I haven't mentioned our latest addition yet." Walking to a different door, he opened it to reveal a rangy beast tamer none of the chiefs had seen before. Aside from his long golden hair and beard, he separated himself from Gilbert through a far more energetic and youthful disposition, a whip at his side but no skinning knife.

"Gentlemen, meet sir Lyon", Destin said, allowing the man to take his chair. "My division was resting up at Anberg when he approached me and offered to join us for a fee."

"Another mercenary lord", Lans noted dourly. Destin could tell he already disliked Lyon. "Wonderful. And what, pray tell, makes him so special?"

Destin began to speak, but a hearty laugh from Lyon cut him off. "Hah! What makes _me_ so special? Have y'not heard of Lyon the Beast lord?"

The division chiefs slowly shook their heads.

Lyon chuckled warmly. "Oh, I'm only just the _best _Beast tamer in all the world! I've tamed beasties that could flatten this temple with one swipe. Which ain't to say I rely on 'em for everything- I fight like ten-thousand men!"

"He's certainly being _paid_ like ten-thousand men", Warren quipped over the bearded man's antics. He'd peeked into the books and found a massive sum missing from the rebel war chest. "20,000 Goth. All in advance."

Blaine gave a ferocious sneeze, then a groan. "20,000? Man... I sold myself for cheap. Why so much? I didn't think you were this much of a sucker, boss. This guy's playing you like a harp."

"Hey!", Lyon shouted, rising from Destin's chair with weapon in hand. "You take that back, hoss! I'm worth every coin, you'll see!"

"Long story", Destin interrupted, trying to stop a fight from breaking out. "In any case, it's not just him. He comes with two Dragons. Green brood, but much older and better trained than the Imperial ones. More than that, the fee included a little rumour, something that just might be the key to our ultimate victory here..."

"What key?", Fubuki jeered, clearly unconvinced of the new chief's legitimacy. "The Black Diamond? A flying ship? A sword that turns everything into cheese so we can eat the wall?" He snorted. "If anyone needs me, I'll be practising on the roof."

Following his lead, the rest of the chiefs began to disperse, not exactly insolent but as unconvinced of their chances as they had been after Reldin's message. Lyon's efforts to befriend his fellow mercenaries fell on deaf ears until Gilbert led him away, but Lans yet remained behind, watching Destin as he paced and poked the fireplace's fuel.

"Sir Destin? There is something else I wished to speak with you about..."

Resisting the urge to sigh in exasperation as Blaine had done to him not so long ago, he picked his head up. "What is it now? Deneb again? My decoy? Bors?"

The last one stopped them both cold, and this time Lans was the first to recover, bowing in the hope that they might one day reconcile everything. "My deepest pardon, sir Destin. These problems can be resolved once we know there _shall_ be a tomorrow for us. For now, I wished to introduce you to someone."

Surprised, he rose. "Who?"

Lans pointed. "Go over to that window, sir Destin. Open the drapes."

He frowned. Lans was the last person he would expect to play practical jokes. Reaching up to move the simple drapes, he immediately fell to the floor at the sight outside. A bright green light looked back, blinking before resolving itself into two of them.

As Lans helped him up, Destin stared, waiting for his initial fear to leave him. It wasn't a pair of emerald stars after all, but two eyes on a dark-coloured rock giant. A golem, and one larger and darker-shaded than most, moonlight shining off the angled rocks. Once it had withdrawn far enough for them to see the entire body, the golem extended one hand, opening it to reveal a bearded knight smiling within its palm.

"This is captain Ashe, sir Destin", Lans told him without a trace of humour. "A great hero to Zenobia, who shall help us undo the great wrongs committed in his name."

"Wha-?" he caught himself. Grinned. "You son of a worg. You found him. Sure is a big fellow. Who's the old man in his hand?"

Sir Ashe laughed.

* * *

General Debonair had not expected a messenger so late at night, particularly one arriving by a Dragon showing the telltale signs of taming by Imperial Dragon Master. This could only be an urgent message, and so he did not bother donning anything more presentable than a simple shirt and pants as he rushed from the barracks to meet the man.

As was commonplace in the Empire's spy networks, the man's tan hood, beard and manner suggested some background in wizardry, possibly the elevated rank of Mage. Letting the servants take his dragon to their stables, he extended a slender arm to Kaus. "Greetings from the Empress, general. The battle goes well, I hope?"

"Not as well as I had hoped", Kaus admitted as he followed the man to a close balcony where they might have some privacy. "My attempt to assassinate Destin of the rebellion failed, though we were able to trim down half their numbers. At the moment, we are hunkering down in preparation for their second attack." He did not wish to mention that he knew where the rebels were quartered for the night, nor the peace offer he'd sent them. _Mercy is a weakness_, the old adage went.

"A fine performance", the man acknowledged. "Just as one would expect from one of the 4 Deva. Sadly, I come with orders that may delay any further action against the rebellion for the moment."

Debonair stopped, feeling a harsh chill rising up his spine that had nothing to do with the night. "I was ordered to suppress the rebellion, wizard. That is our prime goal here."

"Mage, thank you", the messenger corrected him sharply. "But these orders do come down from the highest levels. Disobey them at your own peril, general."

He sighed. "I'm listening."

The mage was smug, devoid of the respect most Imperial soldiers showed the young Deva. "We've recently gotten word from Rashidi's spies that there is a survivor from Zenobia's royal echelons hiding among the prisoners at By'Roit. A nursemaid, one of the caretakers of Gran's sons and daughters."

Debonair shrugged. "What does this have to do with me?"

The mage remained impassive, delivering the edict without any sign of feeling. He would have to. "By edict of Empress Endora made twenty-four winters back, all those connected to the royal family of Zenobia are deemed enemies of the state. Since there was no sign of her before now, we had presumed her to be dead or fled, but now it turns out she's been here on our doorstep the whole time."

He suppressed a groan. He could see where this was going, and it stank of Rashidi's fine gloved hand. It was certainly possible that this mage was in fact one of the Sage's acolytes, cutting out the middle-woman, so to speak, but he dared not take that risk to find out. "And you want us to find this nursemaid?"

"Correct. Although..."

"Although?"

The man blinked, and Debonair felt the chill creep up behind his lungs. "The Empress understands your time constraints, and has thus expanded the order to one of containment. The same objective can be achieved in far less time than it would take to search the place."

Containment. _Containment_. A nice, convenient little euphemism for 'burn to the ground and kill anyone who tries to escape'. Trying to throw off the chill becoming a splitting headache, he turned around and gazed out in the gulag's direction, no longer able to put up with how calmly the messenger expressed such an order. "This is from Endora, is it? Not Rashidi?"

The man removed a slip of paper. "Must you behold the Imperial seal to be sure, general?"

"The Empress would know that this is tactically unsound", he said, cold as steel. "Not to mention unnecessary. The rebellion yet lives and she wants us to go destroy a city with no known connection to them?"

"That is correct, general", the mage said. "As you know, refusal of a direct order constitutes treason. I am certain you would not wish the prince to pay you a visit."

Again he had to hide his reaction, this time a shudder. _Freyashalas. _"What news of the Grand Monk's trial?"

"Huh? What do you mean by- ah." The mage raised his hood before joining Debonair at the balcony's edge. "You are behind the times, regrettably. Grand Monk Forris has been classified by the Supreme Overlord as an enemy combatant due to her presence at several of the Avalon skirmishes. Ergo, she shall not be granted a public trial."

Kaus' heart dropped away. He struggled to get moisture back into his throat. _Show no hesitation. _"But she is the head of the entire Roshian Order! You can't possibly be thinking of executing her."

"Did I say execution, general? That will be up to the prince to decide."

_As good as a death sentence_, he thought miserably. A fogging of the issue that fooled no one and would only exacerbate Zenobia's unrest. "...I understand. We shall head for By'Roit in the morning."

He knew his duty. Even if he didn't understand it.

* * *

The rebel leadership had to wait many hours after the sun rose for all their pieces to be in place. First there was the matter of organizing the new additions of Lyon, Ashe, Talos, and the two Green Dragons into the army, alongside a host of other volunteers from the rest of the liberated cities. As they soon discovered, the dark golem would not allow captain Ashe out of its sight, for it had not come to fight for the rebellion but to ensure the elderly captain's safety so that he might one day return to his prison to serve the rest of his sentence. When asked how exactly Lans had convinced the golem to accept such a stretch of its original function, he had simply chuckled and waved away any further enquiry. As such, a handful of knights that had survived the destruction of Bors' division were assigned to Ashe's command along with one Cleric.

Secondly there was the watchdog assignment. Rebel fliers would be assigned to track Kaus Debonair at all times, and ensure he was in no position to take command of the bulk of his army. To their mutual surprise, the Deva had in fact led the flying portion of his army off to the far east of the capital, leaving only the ground forces behind. Why not? That force still outnumbered the rebels and they had the advantage of an impregnable wall to hide behind. Destin thought perhaps the general had underestimated the rebels, but was he, in fact, overestimating them?

No one could say for sure. Thirdly, there was the tedious but nerve-wracking task of leading the ground divisions to Zenobia's own doorstep. Every half a minute he would raise his head and search the skies for sign of an attack, growing more and more tense the closer it got to the general's deadline. The Imperial army would be settling down for lunch about now, using the massive stash of harvest reportedly kept by Governor Darian to replenish their strength with a large, if not exactly luxurious, meal. Those few who still watched from the walls would be bored and hungry no matter how disciplined they were. After all, just how foolish would the rebellion have to be to assault the capital's impregnable walls?

All the same, he ordered the divisions controlled by Lans, Fubuki, Liat, Blaine and Ashe to hide in the forests gathered 'round the city to be safe. The sentries would only see a handful approaching, and too far away to be anything but a scouting party. Possibly another decoy and poorly-executed bait, if they recognized Destin's armour from his distance, which he had polished and donned in the forest so that no spy would notice the rebel leader moving from city to city.

Beside him, the newly-knighted Harrison Ordas seemed diminished by their losses. Like many of the younger rebels he had been sobered by the recent experience near El Rangen, and no longer looked forward to battle with the same glib enthusiasm that Destin himself had borne until Sharom. It was no longer a game to him, but a nightmarish struggle for survival. There had to be at least a few, Destin knew, that were reconsidering their allegiance now. How grateful would the Empire be to the one who delivered the charismatic rebel leader to them? Grateful enough to forgive the perpetrator? Grateful enough not to retaliate against their home district?

If the Gods willed it, today's events would make the younglings stop asking themselves those questions. "Ready, sir", sir Ordas intoned. "Shall we begin building siege equipment?"

But Destin shook his head. "There's no need for it. That worked at Castle Parcival, but against walls this strong, no wooden weapon shall suffice."

His lieutenant withdrew several paces. "But sir, why did we come all the way out here, then? It's impossible to climb the walls, and our fliers are all engaged elsewhere, or so I've heard."

Destin patted him hard on the back, causing his plate to ring. "Ever the rumour-monger eh, sir Ordas? I hear you got your fifth kill at the last battle. Congratulations. So indulge me, sir. Tell me what the men are thinking we're going to do."

His second looked puzzled at first, that looked out at the handful of sentries along the wall, who no doubt shared his confusion. "I had heard tales about Captain Ashe. They say he's mended his ways, and that he knows a secret passage through the walls. That it was how he helped the Empire get through twenty-four years ago."

"Plausible", his lord agreed. "But wrong. I actually talked to sir Ashe about that, but he assured me there's no such secret passage, and the other royal guard veterans confirmed it. The slums of Zenobia is a cul-de-sac; one way in, one way out unless you can fly. This is why I believe a large majority of the ground forces in this city will stay near the main gate in case of attack, and why it is that we will be striking from the opposite side."

"But my lord...", Harrison said in bare confusion. "The wall! Not one of us can get over the wall!"

Nodding his head discreetly, Destin bent over and withdrew something from his pouch. It was a fat glass jar, sealed with cork and wax. It was what lay within the glass however, that caused his comrade's eyes to go wide as grapes. "What...? What in the Twenty-Two are those?"

"They're called Termites, sir Ordas", Destin explained, watching as the innumerable swarm of black dots continued to roil about in their prison. "There's a thousand strange tales and mysteries in Zenobia, and now this one is going to help us. The story goes that they used to be endemic to Zenobia and Malano during the summer, capable of eating wood out at an astounding rate and leaving it rotten and fragile. As you can guess, King Gran considered this to be a serious problem, given how much of his kingdom was built out of wood."

"So he made a pact with the merchant's council of Malano. The two kingdom's best Mages and Sorcerers were commissioned to cast a scourging curse upon the land, and the Gods answered their prayer with a sudden outbreak of a new species of ant, the primary predator of termites. Within a month, every termite in Zenobia was eaten, and with their primary source of food extinct the ants died off to a more manageable level."

Ordas nodded, not quite grasping what the point of the story was but willing to play along. In fact any story was worth listening to, for him. "I've seen ants. Annoying little buggers, but it sounds like these 'termites' were far worse."

"Sir Ashe says they were a blight in his day", Destin confirmed. "But there was one man who did not approve of the idea of exterminating an entire species, just because we found them to be _inconvenient_. He bottled a colony of termites before they were killed, preserving them even while he went about his duties as a priest in the Order of Roshian. That is what you see before you now, delivered to us by an old friend of Lyon's."

Harrison then noticed that several of the other people in his division had gathered to hear the story after finishing their battle preparations. "It figures that a member of that Order would the be only one so soft-hearted. But I still don't understand, sir. How are these termites going to bring down stone walls?"

Instead of explaining, Destin shooed the crowd away. "Watch."

Stepping a fair distance away, he climbed a small grass hill, careful to stay well away from the forests on either side. First shaking the jar to stir up the insects within, he pointed the cork towards the fortress less than a mile from where he stood, and twisted.

The wax was very old and thus did not break right away. The moment it did however, he could feel the energetic stirring within the jar, desperate to push the large cork aside. As it fell away, he could feel his people sharing in his alarm- the termites _poured_ from their prison in a never-ending stream that seemed impossible for so many to be held within the jar, flitting towards the mighty white walls of Zenobia.

This, Destin knew, would get him noticed. The sentries would see a billowing cloud of black specks rising from the plains, not unlike a flying division when observed from far away. A storm of tens of thousands that might seem to be some terrible plague from the ancient past when Zenobia was the domain of the Ogres. Sure enough, the termites had not even reached the wall before two mounted Cockatrices swooped from the castle out past the swarm to warn the general of what was happening.

They would never make it in time. Already, an unwholesome groaning sounded all along the walls. The entire mile-long city seemed to shake as if caught in an earthquake, and many of the sentries could be seen fleeing from it. As he withdrew, he could see every one of his people held transfixed by the sight and cringing at the sounds. One Imperial, a samurai in black and silver, was close enough to nearly be astride the first crack as it etched itself into a segment of wall as if by sorcery. Terrified beyond rationality, he leapt screaming from the wall, rolling as he hit the ground twenty-five feet below.

The huge crack did not seem to mind. Extending from bottom to top, it branched outwards along the wall like a tree, resulting in fissures shooting up clouds of white dust all along the battlements that became huge cracks of their own before long. Once the entire east side of the capital was covered in cracks crisscrossing every which way, the final downslide began. The entire setup from north to south seemed to slump, shooting off one last dust cloud before falling inwards upon itself like a bottle under some giant's foot.

Feeling a wave of hot dust wash over them all, Destin looked up. At some point the sky had darkened with what looked like the beginning of rain hanging over the capital. None of them felt drops, however. It simply hung there, shrouding the castle Governor Darian called home in thick shadow.

"Now!", he said to the sky, certain that Harrison and the rest were hanging on his every word. "It's time! FIGHT IT OUT!"

* * *

The slums, understandably, were in total chaos. Half the Imperial troops who had not been stationed on the wall immediately engaged themselves with helping their friends out of the rubble, and half again of those who remained were too panicked to think straight. Another division busied itself with recapturing a dragon whose stable had been destroyed by the collapsing wall, driving it into an equal frenzy.

It was into this chaos that the rebel divisions charged, each from a different angle as instructed by their leader. Lans' corps of veteran knights went around the main gate, which had somehow held itself together while the walls on both sides fell apart. Ashe and Talos struck from the southwest, running through the marketplace and slaying every Imperial with ponderous strength, the knight as lethargic as the golem who served him. On their western flank, Blaine and Liat's people, two formerly crippled divisions combined into a whole one, were cutting a swath through the main street. Fubuki, Warren and Destin's groups struck at the high concentration of Imperials at the stables where the flying beasts were kept, striking and smiting everything from valkyries to beast tamers to ninja.

However random and wanton the assault might have appeared to the Imperial troops, and even the downtrodden of the slums as they ran for cover against the storm, it was not without a goal in mind. Ten minutes after the attack had begun, the majority of the division leaders rallied at the most intact structure in the city- the castle itself.

For all its grandeur compared to the district fortresses, Castle Zenobia held no gate or drawbridge to bar their way. Why bother, why waste the resources, when the walls bordering the capital had been strong enough to repel any invasion in living memory? Few were left to oppose the divisions by the time they completed their rendezvous in the castle foyer, and fewer still dared challenge the collected leaders as they marched into the main hall in search of two things: the governor, and a path to the tower where the red and silver colours of the Imperial flag had flown for the better part of three decades.

Neither of these were waiting for them in the throne room, but a Wyrm instead flew through one of the castle's largest windows. Waving an arm out to prevent any misconceptions, Gilbert dismounted Mischa and surveyed the others in respect.

"I never would've believed it", he said, "had I not seen it with my own eyes. You brought down the walls of Zenobia. Not even the Empire ever managed that."

"I'll explain later", Destin said. "What news?"

That request shocked the beast man back to reality, and he blanched. "He's near, lad. Very near. He set off from By'Roit full speed the moment his messenger reached him. Canopus, Lyon, and the ghosts are all working together to harass his flying divisions, but I doubt even losing his dragon will stop Debonair from stopping you."

The rebel leader glanced around. Lans, Liat, Fubuki Talos and Ashe had all made it this far with him, leaving the rest of their people dedicated to keeping the ground forces off-balanced until they could finish what they came here to do. Regardless of how stunned they'd been at first, the dragons and the strangely-garbed 'Dragoners' brought in to handle them would still compose a formidable defence once they rallied. They couldn't win, but they'd certainly inflict great damage on the rebels before going down. To that end, Destin had taken a page from Kaus Debonair's book, and come to the castle with the finest warriors he could spare from the battle outside. "Strike down the Alpha Male", the old reasoning went, "and the pack will scatter".

"Get back to Canopus", he ordered Gilbert. "Buy us as much time as you can without risking your divisions."

Nodding, the beast tamer leaped back onto Mischa and headed skywards. The sounds of an airborne struggle began to reach the chief's ears, but it did not slow their pace as they ascended past the throne and up the castle's central staircase.

They found governor Darian on the outskirts of the second-floor mezzanine, four dead bodyguards and a short climb after. The stout man came out swinging from a blind alley with an axe, nearly striking Liat's back plating before Lans' gauntleted hand shot out and grabbed the pommel. The old knight glared pure murder at Darian across the shaft, prompting him to scramble away until his back struck stone.

"Have mercy!", the governor shrieked from his knees. "P-p-please! I only ever did as I was told to do. It's the Empire! They're all evil savages! Why, if I hadn't been here, watching over our people-"

"Save it, governor", Lans cut him off, speaking for all of them. "We all know where your true allegiance lies- with the highest bidder." Incensed, he pointed out over the spread of ruined buildings. "Watching over our people? You call turning the most prosperous city in the kingdom into THIS watching?"

Seeing his final ploy fail, Darian's manner dissolved into illegible whimpering that seemed to disgust Lans and Ashe even more. Taking only a moment to think it over, Destin stepped up beside his second-in-command. "You may kill him if you wish. I won't stop you."

"He has done more damage to our people than an Imperiallegion", Lans emphasized, still furious but not raising his blade all the way. "Done nothing but tax and extort and mistreat the people in his charge, in the name of currying favour with his vile masters. He is worse than _Usar_. I should toss you from this balcony now and let Talos step on your remains until naught is left."

Darian quivered, clearly terrified past the point of resisting and, Destin assumed, past the point of bowel control. Sniffing the air as if thinking the same way, Ashe closed one metal arm over Lans', forcibly lowering it. "Don't, lad. There's nothing you can do to him worse than what he's done to himself."

Seeing them together like that, Destin could not stop himself from smiling. For the entire rebel campaign, he could not find the means to express proper disapproval at his sworn brother's zealous hatred towards all who had betrayed the crown, nor any way to get him to let it go. Ashe knew how his old friend worked, and the rebellion was all the stronger for it. It seemed a small change. It would be gradual, not manifesting in obvious ways for quite some time. But Destin's heart beat easier knowing there was someone out there who _understood_ Lans, who could keep him from doing anything they would later regret.

"I'll take him", Fubuki offered after a moment's pause. "At least he won't hug me."

Destin saw Lans scowl at that and was prepared to give the mercenary a rebuke in his defence until a new sound overrode anything he could have said. The din crashed along the halls, the familiar noise of an mortally-injured man magnified by a factor of one hundred. Following it to the edge of the mezzanine while trying not to cover his ears, he stared.

_Talos_ was the one who had cried out, its pain not human but still unnerving to hear at such volume. Looking up at the sky, they could all make out the outline of a long blade driven into the golem's limestone head, as well as the formation of flying beasts who had made it possible for _someone_ to replicate Liana of house Fordrannon's tactic.

"Debonair's fleet", Liat claimed grimly. The massive aerial legion the rebels had damaged but not defeated at El Rangen had returned. Inglesias and Halla had done their ghastly work well. Canopus had driven his own squadron into the fray more times than anyone could guess. Gilbert and Lyon had pushed their pets to the limits of their abilities, collectively cutting down multiple flyers... But now they were _here_, and they still had thirty more bodies left to throw into the fray.

Bellowing, Talos fell crashing to the ground, taking out a portion of the east wall as he did so. All rebel eyes, however, were drawn to the lone figure sprinting up the falling mass of dark rock towards the mezzanine as its body fell. The blade that had so wounded Talos was a long, wide flatpan of grey steel that shone with the fires around them. None of the chiefs had any doubt which of the Imperial survivors was coming for them now, and drew their weapons as one. Destin took a deep, deep breath, the governor now completely out of mind.

Kaus Debonair came spinning over the mezzanine's rail, hair singed into darkness but otherwise undamaged. Descending, he brought one plated knee into Fubuki's face mask, deflecting two well-aimed blows before pivoting, pushing the samurai aside so that he could strike at Destin's helmeted head. The others tried, but again Destin was reminded of why battle lines existed. Moreover, the general was moving around far too quickly for the others to attack without the risk of hitting their fellows. They would have to wait until they were able to get some distance apart, could get clear shots-

Debonair came out of a spin with blazing eyes locked onto Liat, who had led the firing of his own Iainuki and blasted a significant furrow into his armour. What initially appeared to be a crowd-clearing swipe released a large wave of the same crackling blue energy, taking Liat all the way into a tower wall where he did not move again. The Deva ducked a wild barrage from Fubuki before leaping clear of his four remaining opponents, landing closest to Lans while the others recovered enough to charge.

The old knight never had a chance. Kaus spun inside his descending slash, catching the follow-up on his wristguard before driving his other fist into the man's head. He flew back howling and clutching at his helmet, but doggedly hanging onto shield and sword until a precise saber hit to both made the pain too much to bear. Fubuki's own Iainuki seared into the metal on the general's back, making him cry out- the first noise Destin could recall hearing him make so far- but not fall, or even stagger. _That Blade attack's a spirit technique too_, he reminded himself hopefully. _He shouldn't be able to use it too many times without draining his life force. Theoretically._

Fueled more by desperation than instinct, he flew at the general now, followed by a second Iainuki from Fubuki. The mercenary lord had perhaps realized that they got in each other's way too much to be effective when attacking all at once, preferring to use his powerful distance attack no matter how much vitality it cost him.

Not that the other method seemed that much better-off. Destin tried to slam the Mystic Mace into Debonair's chestplate only to have the long sword sever the iron ball from the pommel. He drove a plated knee into the general's ribs only to meet an uppercut that sent him stumbling back into Ashe as the world spun before his eyes. He caught another sweep on his sword, only to counterstrike at empty air, with his foe rolling away and digging his sword across Ashe's chest. Fatigued enough to snap back, the knight could not resist the general grabbing him by the neck to throw into a fourth Iainuki where he promptly collapsed into Fubuki's arms.

"So it is", he breathed, speaking to the fallen rebels for the first time since his arrival. The long sword glowed as prelude to another Blade technique. "Farewell, _gentlemen_."

"Brother", Destin called, not caring if the general heard. "Your sword. Now."

Lans was in no shape to fight or argue, simply passing his greatsword over to someone who was still standing. Destin sheathed it, keeping his own ready and discarding the useless stick that had once been the Mystic Mace.. "Fubuki, you too." Miracles of miracles, he gave up his backup katana without any back-talk. Destin dispassionately noted it had nine kill notches in it before trying it out in his left arm. Not the best fit, but something Debonair wouldn't be expecting.

"You cannot be serious", the Deva pointed out as if deriding a garish choice of cape. "No Zenobian living can defeat me."

"We shouldn't have to", Ashe's dusty voice came, surprising Destin and Debonair equally with its lack of the lethargy it usually carried around like iron chains. "Look around you,_ Kaus_! The Empire's tyranny has ruined this kingdom. Empress Endora has become nothing but a despot. You intended to unite the lands of the south into a solid alliance, but we've never been worse off."

"An insolent puppy, whining for extra scraps", the general dismissed the calling of his more intimate name. "And you should not have come back, Valerin."

"True, Kaus" Ashe stood firm. "I shouldn't have had to. You and I _both _I'm too damned old to be fighting you like this. But I'd sooner meet a violent end here, than leave this world knowing the dark hands my homeland is in."

"Then let your Court of Swords be the judge."

He lunged. Both of Destin's swords rose but did not meet the general's longer blade. Instead he dropped back, ducking away from the slash and pressing against the chest with both boots before pushing off.

Debonair was going to fall from the mezzanine. He could see that now, and swept his blade down in what looked like a vain effort to make a temporary handhold. Not a good idea- Destin could simply bring his weapons down onto-

An explosion-like noise sounded and, much like the walls that had once protected it, the castle wall crumbled away from the fissure. Too close to escape, Destin saw Fubuki grabbing Ashe's body, preventing it from following him. Lans, however, had regained some of his old spark. He leapt down after the other two, stealing Ashe's blade with nary a word.

* * *

Despite the sorry shape the metal of his armour was in, despite the big knot of pure _hurt_ swelling on his brow where Debonair's fist had caved in his helmet, Lans Hamilton had rarely felt more energetic. Perhaps it had something to do with the freefall he, Destin, and Debonair were currently in, fully subject to gravity's whims until they struck the patch of dirt rushing up below them.

It wouldn't be pleasant, this landing. His feet ached with premonition, but this was something he had to witness himself, even if he would be of little help with his injuries. Thinking about ex-captain Ashe, and just how much pain _he_ must be in right now, helped to dilute them into a minor distraction. Old Ashe had known and fought the 4 Deva from the war twenty-four summers back, during his prime. He would understand better than anyone else just what Destin of house Naught was getting himself into fighting such a person alone, in case the opening seconds of fighting hadn't convinced him.

He had to be there. If today was the day that the proud and mighty Kaus Debonair finally fell, he wanted to see it happen with his own eyes. If it was instead Destin's day to finally have Twenty-Two fail him, then it would be up to Lans to decide the future of the rebellion, and of Zenobia. He would not be told by some scout later that his brother had died alone and friendless. Never.

Both the young men hit the dirt rolling below him, and from the opening blow Lans could tell even the Gods would have a time finding ways to keep their chosen one alive. Taking the general's first strike on both blades still knocked the rebel leader back several inches before he tightened up his stance as Lans had always taught him, making his crimson-armoured body much harder to knock off-balance.

On the other side, Debonair fought fast and loose, leaping about with a succession of jumping slashes, trying everything he knew to get around the two weapons blocking his path. Once it became apparent how difficult such a task would be, he sprung back a few yards and unleashed his spirit technique. As Destin dodged, Lans saw a Griffin stable behind him severed neatly all along the middle by the blue wave, faster and more deadly than all but the highest-grade magic.

Now it was Destin charging, taking the lead in trying to beat past the general's huge blade. Or was he? As Lans watched, his brother worked the katana and his own sword like the blades of a windmill, striking and smashing and cutting away at the general's long sword... but not its holder.

The riddle was solved a moment later, when Debonair came up with his knee crash again and Destin passed up an obvious chance to try and cut it. Some sparks flew up from the katana the next time it was parried, and Lans understood. He wasn't _trying_ to maim Debonair, but merely break the general's weapon. This may have seemed like mercy, but was likely practicality- no weapon made by mortal hand was immune to the stresses of repeated blows, even if it might be days before he ever found the shatterpoint. And it was a far easier target than the Deva himself.

A dozen lightning strikes from both sides later, the katana sparked further, then shattered with the next hit. Without wasting time being shocked, Destin brought up Lans' own sword in its place, shorter and not as immediately lethal but infinitely more familiar. He continued to bang away at the general's weapon, not striking any sparks from it yet but already stoking a suspicion in Debonair's mind by the look on his ash-blackened face.

Once he'd figured it out, the Deva changed tactics, opting to use the knees and elbows of his armour as he had against Lans as much as he could, only using his sword as a shield. This bore fruit almost immediately, as a rising shot to the chest made Destin choke enough to make a grazing slash along his left side before he could scramble away.

Now Kalanbolg was spitting sparks as well. Lans feared that every weapon Destin held would break before Debonair's, but kept himself from any sound that would give away the position he'd snuck into behind the two, among one of the ruined buildings that surrounded them. This time, he did not even hesitate- Debonair's sword flew through empty air where the right-hand blade had been as Destin charged, raking over the back of his foe's armour. Like his left arm wound, both cuts bled freely, though the effect the realization of it had on the general was more noticeable than any blood.

A brief flicker of uncertainty, but it was enough. General Kaus Debonair had never been beaten in a real fight. Such status had wrought a small conceit in him that hid amongst the genuine humility he'd held since boyhood. Ever the youngest of his peers. Ever number one of four in the ranks of the legendary Deva, more than likely the weakest and thus the one with the most to prove. And now that conceit was threatened by people he believed- _knew_- to be inferior to him, like a dragon at risk of being killed by rats in a freak accident. Another flying Blade technique left a shining fissure of energy where Destin had rolled, and his own attacks became more frenzied, nicking the rebel's scalp and removing hair before Destin punched him back hard in the chest plate, breaking his knuckles but freeing himself just in time

Both men panted hard as they watched the other for sudden moves, oblivious to Lans' presence now for the series of injuries decorating their armour and skin, sweat coating their grim faces. Both of them looked to Lans as if they were on the verge of collapsing. Seconds flew by, and Lans swore he could hear his own heart beating in rhythm with theirs.

Then Debonair blinked and straightened up. Stopped panting. "...Fool." He shot off another wave of hazy blue. This one came on too fast and too well-aimed to dodge completely, cutting through the rebel's armour at the waist and making him cry out before falling face down. His attacker breathed out, sounding more relieved than anything, and raised his sword for the finisher.

Lans could not have stopped himself. Injuries twice as bad as these would not have halted the blood surging through him. He came flying out of his hiding spot, screaming as he slashed down with Ashe's weapon. The general saw it coming of course, but even he had not anticipated the sickening _crack_ that rang out as his own weapon exploded into sparking fragments.

A breath of surprise was enough for the madman to gouge Debonair in the right shoulder, nearly beheading him with a running follow-up and forcing him away from Destin's body with each strike.

Debonair staggered back, eyes wide, no longer able to hide just how ragged his breaths had become. Lans stared at him in wonder, nearly forgetting the weapon in his hand. A normal human would be dead from the exhaustion, never mind the loss of so much blood. _But_ c_ould this be? Can we truly kill an Imperial Deva? An elite?_

Glaring back, the 1st Deva seemed to read his thoughts. "_Never_."

Too late, he saw the red dragon swooping down near the rubble. He might get in a few more hits if he pursued, but not enough to kill the man. Debonair waved an exotic salute as he boarded his favourite dragon, making ready for a flight which would not require him to remain awake for long. Raising a cupped hand to his lips he sounded a simple three-pitch, six-note call, one that Lans had never heard before in his life. Whether by sorcery or some trick of acoustics, it echoed through the city into the farthest reaches of the burning slums.

Debonair looked down at Lans, the ghost of a smile on his face. His Highland accent did not seem as thick as before. "Tend to him, knight. He has fought beyond anything I would have dreamed a mere Zenobian capable of... Even if he is a fool. So I yield this victory to you, for now. It is true, what your captain said. The Empress... she has not been herself as of late."

Standing guard over Destin's body, Lans said nothing. He could think of no words.

"But" he warned with a nod to Destin's unconscious body. "Make no mistake, _rebel_. My duty to my homeland remains clear- I must find the source of the problem. After that, we'll resume our... personal dispute. We'll meet again, gentlemen."

With that, the dragon lifted off, casting wide wings to both sides as it flew from the ruined city.

* * *

Gaerth Endora was gone. The Black Queen had not seen him for two days, and that knowledge calmed her no matter how bitter it was.

Private aroma baths were a rare treat even among the Highland's upper crust. A bit of decadence her people liked to believe themselves beyond, preferring to wash in large steaming tubs meant for several at a time. But Endora could not deny how such a thing smooth the aches in her joints, stopped the frightening sense of the world sliding out from under her wherever she walked. It would not do for the Empress to stumble when walking among her people, nor to be seen talking to invisible dead people. Two days of careful optimism later, and she could at last say with confidence that her husband was gone, and would never appear before her again. She would once again cut a fine figure, for the years had not diminished her attractiveness a great deal.

Coming into her bedchamber in bathrobes, she saw a red and gold garbed Muse- a high ranking valkyrie- standing guard at the door that led out into the hallway. That in itself was not unusual, but the way the woman refused to look her Empress in the eye implied both news and bad news. Taking a moment to slick her hair back, she forced the Muse to look her in the eye, the old majesty coming back after so many months of feeling weak. It had been sorely missed.

"Something wrong, Wlenca?"

As one of the more taciturn guard captains here at castle Xanadu, Wlenca did not try to dodge the issue, presenting herself without a weapon. "Empress. I would have waited for you in the throne room, but my predecessor insisted this was too urgent to wait."

Endora managed a light chuckle, a jest to try and set the girl at ease. "Well, we thank you for not intruding during our bath. We might have had to punish you for it. What's the matter?"

Wlenca remained downcast. "It's... it's the rebellion, Empress. We've received word from Zenobia."

"Oh? What word? Did Kaus succeed with his plan, or did he have to kill them all?"

But the muse shook her head. "That's the problem. The message was delivered through Debonair's own fliers. There's... there's not many of them left, Empress."

Endora went very still, wringing her hands into knots out of a desire to do _something _with them. Her white irises burned. "How? How many...?"

"Less than thirty, Empress. Debonair is among them, but captain Rhea immediately demanded he be rushed to the hospital wing upon their arrival at Fort Allamoot."

"_Thirty_ ?", she shouted, her serenity gone. "Out of over _two hundred_-"

"Rhea also said that Zenobia's capital was taken by the rebellion", Wlenca continued, desperate now to get the rest of the words out before her Empress became even more furious. "They did something to break down the city walls, leaving the ground troops with nowhere to run to except the ports to the north. They were intercepted and killed there."

"Over two hundred of our finest", Endora repeated bleakly as if she hadn't heard the last part. "Twenty divisions. Nearly an entire Legion. With a Deva leading them. And they lose to band of scarcely one hundred puny rebels. Tell me you're joking."

"I'm sorry, Empress..."

"Of all the incompetent-" Endora whispered after several tense seconds. Her hands fell away, lifeless. "Get out. Get out, get out, GET OUT!"

Wlenca obliged with all haste. Endora let herself drop, falling into the two-person bed, her rage momentarily departed.

"We were too lenient", Gaerth Endora's gentle voice licked her ears, and she dared not open her eyes. "We assumed the prospect of destruction by Lodis would get the fools to cooperate. Zenobia lives and dies for its pride. As do we all."

Endora felt her belly churn. "Then we must put a stop to it. No more foolish arrogance on our part. No more mercy. Burn them all. Strike down their leaders, and let their fates last forever as examples of those who defy us. Burn them. Kill them."

"Destin."

"Destiny's Child. The Chaos-Bringer.", the darkness agreed.

"Destin is at fault for all of this. Let the Chaos-Bringer be hounded out and slaughtered. Let him face betrayal and destruction at every turn."

"So we decree. He shall be public enemy number one. Free us, Empress."

Endora sat up in panic, not knowing who had spoken which words. Gaerth stood before her, pristine as he'd been on their wedding day. To his left, prince Gares as a little boy. To his right, Endora's younger sister. The sister who had drowned in a frigid lake ten winters back.

"_Free us_."

"I can't", she begged, holding her head in a vain hope that it would stop. "I_ can't_! You're all dead! You're not real!"

"Then set us free! Give us_ life_!"

This was too much. Breaking down on the floor, her tears soaked the carpet. "Please... please leave me alone! GET OUT! Get out of my head!"

They weren't listening. The shadows were all around her, laughing, mocking, crying, raging, exerting invisible pressures that made her want to scream and scream until she could feel no more. "Go away... please... God... go away."

The Black Queen howled in despair. _Destin_ was to blame for this. That, she knew without ever having seen the lad in person. He would pay for all of this. Oh, how he would pay...


	12. Revelation

**Revelation**

* * *

**Tarot X - Fortune**

_From out of hiding comes the Fool, into the sunlight, as if being pulled up from some low, dark point on a wheel. It is time for a change. Staff in hand, he heads back out into the world, expecting nothing. But, strangely, things seem to happen to him as the hours go by, good things. Wandering by a water wheel a woman offers him a drink in a golden chalice, and then urges him to keep the cup, just because she likes him; as he wanders by a windmill, he stops to watch a young man swinging a sword; when he expresses his admiration of the weapon, the young man presses it into his hand, insisting that he take it. _

_And finally, when he comes upon a rich merchant sitting in a wagon, right over one of the wheels, the man hands him a bag of money. "I like giving away money," explains the Merchant, "and I decided, just randomly, that the tenth person who walked past me today would get this money. You're the tenth." The Fool hardly thought he could still be surprised, but he is. It is as if everything good that he ever did in his life is being paid back to him, three-fold. All luck this day is his._

* * *

The morning after the battle of Zenobia, Destin wandered the slums of Zenobia alone. A dozen division chiefs and other men and women had requested his presence, but for the moment solitude was all he desired. That, and a chance to properly behold the destruction he'd willingly wrought upon Zenobia's once-proud capital.

So much wreckage, in wood and stone both. The city walls were beyond salvage, and would not be returned to anything near their previous integrity for many summers, if ever. A work of art beyond any skill that exists in the present, they were. No Zenobian architect still alive could ever fully repair the damage done by the termites, which had so devoured the wooden framework that held the walls upright. As much as he had hoped it would not be the case, the city walls had collapsed inwards upon the first layer of buildings in the city proper, turning them into wreckage as well. Stone on stone, and little resembling structure left over.

Many of the city's downtrodden now scurried among the ruins, their behaviour seeming more like scavengers than men except when they stopped to stare at the one who had made it all possible. Though the Empire had been beaten back from the capital, Destin could not be sure if these filthy, ragged humans watched and pointed at him with admiration or hatred. He stayed well enough away, and any of them who attacked him would regret it.

That, he felt, was more true now than it had been. Though his injuries had been severe and he would not be able to swing a sword properly for many a day yet, he'd never felt more capable. Seeing General Kaus Debonair in action and nearly matching him for a short period of time had inspired something within Destin- a desire to feel the general's speed and power in himself, and he felt closer to that now than he did when they'd started.

Strength like that would no doubt be a necessity in whatever battles the future held for the rebellion, but he had never truly considered before now just how _good_ being strong felt.

Stepping past the stable the general had bisected with the blue spirit-energy wave, he fanned out into a more distant precinct. The damage here was less extensive, but a wanderer's abandon sent him to the most thoroughly destroyed house in the neighbourhood. This one had been ruined long before the rebellion had attacked, with only short bits of stone wall and a dust-caked door frame symbols of what had once stood here. A pack of rats had made a nest in the corner, then abandoned it.

Coming around to where he guessed the kitchen had once been, Destin felt his hand along the dividing wall. The dust lay thick here as well, and bits of loose material fell from his touch along with a great many spider webs. How odd that he felt like an intruder even here, many years after the owners had died or fled. Coming around the other side, he saw a dark hollow that had once been a fireplace, and-

And a man with his back to him. Bulky orange armour with dragonmaw-shaped gauntlets moulded over forest green robes. A healthy head of midnight blue, and a beard that reflected the same colour as the man rounded on him. It was Sage Rashidi.

"_Dormee_ ."

Before he could run, before he could even gasp, Destin felt his legs become heavy as boat anchors, forcing him down to the floor. Rashidi did not move as the word took effect, watching with interest as the rebel leader fought with all of his will against the spell. An invisible pressure climbed up his legs to his torso, and then his head, and after thirty seconds he could take no more. He felt his entire body bowing down before the Sage of Light with his face pressed to the dusty ground; the gesture of absolute subservience Lans had shown him once but never performed before anyone. He could not even muster the energy to snarl in vexation, or perhaps the spell did not even allow him to make that small movement for the weight on his lips.

"_Kdoj-Ulvi_ ", Rashidi chanted, relieving the overpowering pressure after several seconds, and immediately it withdrew from Destin's upper body, allowing him to sit up, though he still could not move his legs from the folded position. Coming up to him and kneeling down on one leg, the Sage grimaced in a warped parody of Destin's mentor, though he looked decades younger and a great deal more contemptuous. "Interesting. Warren did indeed choose wisely. A young, healthy specimen. And here I thought he was losing his touch. You're a long way from home, boy. Does your mother know you're out of bed?"

Destin felt a pressure on his jaw making it a feat to try and grind out any words. The implication was obvious- he'd been foolish to stray from the protection of his divisions, assuming all resistance had been dealt with yesterday night. Not that any number of bodyguards would have been much help against _this_ enemy. "Urgh... what... do... you... want?"

"Merely passing through", Rashidi said casually. "Thought I'd drop off a small reminder of how futile your quest truly is. I knew you would come here."

"They said... ungh! The same thing... about us taking this city", Destin countered, at last throwing off the stifling pressure on his jaw that expressly forbade him from talking back. "But we _won_. Zenobia has been freed."

"And you can just smell the enthusiasm in the air", the Sage mocked, looking around at the rubble as if seeing it for the first time. No one had noticed them, and Destin would not put it past the Sage to work a spell to keep it that way. Without warning, Rashidi kicked him over onto the ground, metal boot soles irresistible in his current state. "Young fool. Do you really believe all of _this _was a mere coincidence? The work of the old Gods, perhaps? That would be what Lancelot would say, I am sure. Thanks Them for every turd that comes out his rear, that one does."

"What...?", Destin managed to grunt through bloodied teeth.

" '_Destiny's Child_' ", Rashidi shook his head in pity. "Just a coincidence that you located the only termite colony remaining in Zenobia in time to destroy the walls? Just a coincidence, then, that Kaus Debonair just _happened _to be elsewhere when you attacked? Just blind luck, that _everything_ has worked out for you so far, even when you could practically feel the breath of the Thirteenth on your shoulder? You only got this far because I _allowed _you to, boy. Never forget that. Warren Moon knows as well. Ask him- he'll tell you. Even with our guidance you still nearly dropped the ball a few times. You are weak. Unworthy."

"You...", the rebel leader coughed, awestruck but trying not to show it. "You _don't _control... me. How did you know I was going to be here?"

"The Gods", Rashidi mocked, standing over his victim with a smirk and raising him high into the air with a gesture. "My spies did their homework, you know. It took a while, but we finally found out what you_ are_, boy. That was how I knew to come here, and wait for you."

"Wh-what...?"

The Sage gave a high snicker, walking over to the skeletal door frame. "Have a look around. It was your own suppressed memories which compelled you here. All I had to do was show up, and I knew you would be unable to resist."

Raising one orange-scaled arm, he rubbed at something at the top of the frame. Forced to watch, Destin realized it was a family crest engraved in the metal. Nothing recognizable. The name beneath it, however...

Once Rashidi moved his hand from it, he could at last see it clearly. The blood name of the family who had once lived here: FARODA_._

The world shattered around him. He would never know if it was the result of some spell Rashidi had cast, or the sight of his blood name which sent his mind reeling into the murky past, but at that point it made no difference.

There was the sight of Zenobia's capital in it's prime, twenty-four summers ago when the Empire had taken it. The rain of fireballs from catapults and wizards shooting overhead, tinting the sky red while men and women and children ran for their lives, knowing their city to be doomed. The palpable terror. A man, his face blurred, pulling a frightened boy by the hand as they tried to escape the tide of violence. Another, younger man, this one cruel and tainted with darkness, giving the boy a look between anger and malice.

"_You just made the biggest mistake of your life, kid."_

It was rage and malice which were foremost among the sensations that jolted him from the nightmare, slowly rising back through fog as he realized his throat had been wide open for the duration. It was painful to move. Had he been screaming?

That question seemed less important once he saw what had transpired while he'd been trapped reliving the past. Something dark and huge and _wrong _was beating Sage Rashidi back, contained by his dragon-maw gauntlets for the moment but horrifying in the way it moaned through three gaping voids that made it look like the biggest ghost in the world, nearly filling the entire property. The sphere of darkness had a sickly yellowish tinge, shifting and contorting as it tried to attack Rashidi like a thing alive. Every negative emotion Destin could think of radiated from the thing like the sun's light, fear and rage and loathing and worthlessness all rolled into a single package that the Sage was fighting hard just to hold back.

"_Phantom_", he whispered. Somehow, he instinctively knew the name of the magic that was attacking the Light Sage. How, he did not know. Nothing about this was explainable yet, particularly how _he_ had conjured such a thing while dreaming. Regardless, he could tell the massive ghost-face would not listen to him now if he tried calling it off. Magic didn't work that way. He knew that much, even if he knew so little of it that it seemed impossible for him to generate a spell of such power without a ley point to draw on or even any chanting.

Powerful as it was, Rashidi was more powerful still. He'd been understandably shocked by all this, but now he had the thing's number. Destin was oddly relieved when the Sage sent rainbow flares out from his gauntlets, gradually shrinking the darkness into tiny spheres in both hands before crushing them like grapes.

The Sage stared back at him, mouth agape at the latest 'miracle'. "How. How. How did you _do_ that? Was it something the prince- urgh! Never mind. It matters not. In any case, I hope you enjoyed that little trick."

Destin nearly crumpled. Enjoyment was the absolute last thing he would use to describe such visions, or the sight of powerful, expert-level dark magic pouring from his body by sheer instinct. His breath was heavy. "I... don't... care. I'll find... you, Rashidi... I don't care if you're... a million times... more powerful... I'm going to destroy the Empire... and..."

Rashidi laughed, knowing their time was short. The massive ghost-face would bring people running from all over, rebel and civilian both. He held the rebel's face in his left gauntlet for only a moment, a gesture that would have been a tender caress if the gauntlet had not been tipped with talons that painfully dug into his flesh. "Enjoy your remaining time as a 'legendary hero', Destin Faroda, son of Lexar Faroda. I've been there. I learned better, just as you will."

A rainbow cloud of smoke flew up into his face, and the Sage was gone.

* * *

"I want to see him", Banya insisted as she tried to push past a pair of knights in the throne room. "I want to know the truth."

Lans watched, torn between duties as he often was these days. Sir Destin was sleeping after coming back to the castle looking more tired than he could recall, but he _did_ owe the old woman from By'Roit a great deal for having revealed the truth about captain Ashe before it was too late. By all looks of things the times of war had subsided for the moment, and taking measures to spread this truth was high on his priority list. For too long had the elderly captain of the guard laboured under the collective hatred of all Zenobia, and it was past time to set that to rights. The only question was how.

"I've been assigned to speak for him in the case of refugees or diplomats, lady Banya", he said, dismissing both the other knights before they hurt her. "Anything you wish to say, you may say to me."

"Not this time", Banya protested, following him down the hall in the hope that he would take her to Destin. She seemed henpecked, and Lans could guess why.

"We are well aware of the destruction at By'Roit", he soothed her as they walked, passing by a number of other rebels without incident. "Dispatched Canopus and Ashe's divisions yesterday to rescue as many as we can. I assure you that we had no idea that the Empire was burning the city during the time of our attack."

"And if you had, you would have called off destroying the capital with equal fanaticism, then?, Banya shot back coldly. "I saw the walls fall, Lancelot. You killed more civilians than Imperials with that trick, impressive as I'm sure it looked."

Lans paused. He hadn't expected such venom from her after a decisive victory for the rebellion. "Hardly civil, milady. You've seen the effects governor Darian and the Empire had on this place- for some here, death is a release."

The matron fell silent after that and even Lans could tell he'd said something wrong. No longer able to put her off with casual conversation, he rapped on the door to Destin's temporary quarters and hoped mildly that he wouldn't answer. No such luck- the rebel leader slowly pried the door open, up on his feet but still groggy, certainly in no shape to fight. A cleric had been in the room, tending to his injuries as best she could, fixing the broken knuckles and multiple slash wounds Kaus Debonair had given him. "Brother. Is something the matter?"

He sounded as apologetic as he felt, looking at Banya. "This woman has demanded to speak with you, sir Destin."

The young man's eyes drooped. "Can it not wait until tomorrow? You know what I've been through lately, just as you have."

_This_ made Lans alarmed, more than any amount of lost blood. His friend had never before complained of injury or being tired, only putting off work when he was ready to collapse on the planning table. What had happened?

"Nonetheless, brother, she insists. Given that she shared the truth with me when I confronted Ashe in his prison, I would think she deserves some sort of credit. Hear her out at least. I promise she'll not be long." He finished this with a stern glance towards Banya. "Correct?"

"I will take as long as is necessary to learn the truth", she countered firmly. "But we need not discuss it here." Following the knight's lead, she sat down in a chair off to the left of Destin's cot, regarding the rebel leader intently. The cleric, feeling out of place with two guests in the room, began to pack up her cart of medicines.

"So", Banya began, watching him carefully for some hint only she could guess at. "Now you have taken Zenobia's capital back from the Empire. Most impressive of you. I have no doubt that the parcels of land you failed to liberate will soon follow your example, and cast out the Imperials by force of arms. A few hundred more deaths on your head, boy."

Destin nodded weakly. He knew this already.

"But now you face a problem that cannot be solved by force of arms", Banya lectured him. "Who, I ask you, shall rule Zenobia now that the Empire has retreated? Is it you? Were you planning on taking the throne for yourself now?"

"We... considered it", Destin offered after some hesitation. "Even before Sharom fell, we knew that would be a crucial task. All of Gran's direct descendants were killed in the purge twenty-four summers back, and the Empire was equally merciless towards other noble lines afterwards. Darian was a very thin relation, but his continued existence proves that they did not manage to slay all of the Zenobian nobles."

Banya raised an eyebrow. "Darian. Is he-?"

Lans shook his head. "Nae. He left with the handful of Imperials who managed to reach Kal Robst to the north, sailing back to his masters"

The matron clucked at that. "A pitiful man, really. Thought that collecting taxes and making laws were the only things a ruler had to do. Not that I'm convinced you'll fare much better." She stared back with a renewed chill after that, waiting expectantly for a clear answer. "A warrior does not make a ruler, Destin, any more than an experienced ruler makes for a good warrior. In fact there are some who would suggest that the two roles are mutually exclusive, that a veteran warrior so accustomed to death and blood could never understand the earthly concerns of his people."

"Some" Destin repeated, leaving the obvious unsaid. "But no matter how distasteful the alternative, I swore from the start that I would only hold the reins of power for as long as it takes to negate the Empire as a threat to our sovereignty, if that. I cannot rule this country. I'm not of the blood."

Lans frowned. Coughed politely. "T'is not been proven, sir Destin. The boy we found in that dungeon could have been anyone's son. Indeed, I would say it morelikely that you _were_ of proper blood considering how dedicated the bastards were to jailing or executing nobles."

His friend gave a very sad smile, this time not flinching at the word 'bastard'. "Thanks for the vote of confidence Lans, but I know the truth now. I have no interest in consolidating power, at least not permanently."

The knight's growing sense of unease did not make him miss the look of triumph on Banya's wrinkled face. "And they trusted you with the 'Star of Heroes' as well... Truly, this kingdom is blessed to have found one such as you, boy. Another few years, and who knows what might have become of us?"

Now it was Destin's turn to be puzzled. "How did you know we had that? It's useless in battle, we keep it in the treasury wagon."

"I know", Banya replied, smiling. "I spent years safeguarding the secret treasures of Zenobia. Believe me, I know who their keepers were, and what sorts of virtues one would need to be awarded them. The Mercury stone as well, no?"

"Yes", the lad remained aghast. "We picked it up in the Pogrom District, some beggar offering it as a donation to the cause."

"That" Banya noted without superiority, "was no beggar. He was an agent of the crown, one of the many keepers of this land's most ancient secrets and mysteries. That way, the Empire could never get ahold of those trinkets, much less the Zodiac Stones."

Both men sat up when they heard that. The twelve treasures Banya spoke of were considered to be the most valuable items in the known world. Each one could sell on the general market for hundreds of millions of Goth, and like as much even more in the kingdom of Malano. Accordingly, neither of them had ever caught a trace of the stones. Many believed them to be mere myths, or else disappeared along with Zenobia's other magical residue.

"Don't get your hopes up now", Banya threw up her hands in jest. "I don't have any of the twelve, and the Mercury isn't one. All I know is that their keeper or keepers will only offer the stones to someone with the means to translate the runes engraved on each of them. Someone who will use those translated runes for good. They're pretty and valuble, but their true worth lies in those runes. And they are not limited to Zenobia, though I don't believe any of them have yet left the lands of the south."

"The tablet of Yaru", Lans deduced in raw shock. "Nearly as elusive as the stones themselves. How is it you know all this?"

She scoffed, though politely. "Didn't you hear me? I was once part and parcel to the Royal Family of Zenobia. The nursemaid, to be precise. I raised Gran's five children as though they were my own."

This reveal brought Destin back down to earth, and he stared at the old matron with new respect. "That is why they sent a strike force to By'Roit, isn't it? You stuck your neck out to save sir Ashe, and so someone reported you to Rashidi's spy network."

Banya looked hurt at first, but then lapsed into genuine mystery. "No. I confess I don't know how it is they found me out, but I have been visiting By'Roit in disguise for years, delivering bread and water to sir Ashe so that he might not starve himself, along with a few others there I believed to be innocent. To be honest, he's quite good company for an old woman when he isn't too depressed over what happened. I'm fond of him." Breaking off the pleasant memory, she shuddered. "A shame, what happened to that place. Most of them were in there for petty crimes, or false charges like sir Ashe. The real hard-cases get shipped to Diaspola, the floating prison."

"One more sin for the Empire to pay for", Lans said simply. Anyone who even entertained a notion of defying the Empire knew and dreaded the name Diaspola. "Their tab grows every day."

"Yes", his friend affirmed. "And don't worry Lans, they haven't seen the last of us. We're not ending it here. Back to business. You come before us now, revealing yourself as the royal nursemaid after making sure I wasn't looking to snag the throne for myself. Why?"

Serious again, Banya nodded. "I had to be sure. Sure that I could trust you with this secret- Rashidi's spies are everywhere, and if they got even a whiff of it, they wouldn't rest until they found him."

"Him?" Lans blinked behind his visor. "Who, madam?"

"Prince Fichs Tristoram of house Zenobia", Banya said, far too lightly for the importance of that name. "Or, as he preferred to be called, Prince Tristan. Though five children were indeed executed after the war along with the rest of Gran's family, only a handful of people know that I was able to get him out of the city before it fell. That a commoner child that looked similar to him was given his clothes and killed in his place. That he lives today, waiting for the time when he might reclaim his birthright."

She waited several seconds, letting the import of that settle in with them, Destin's mind racing ahead out of its torpor. This solved all their succession problems- no Zenobian in his gourd would balk at a direct descendant taking the throne. The kingdom might again be made whole.

"Where", he managed to stammer. "Where is Prince Tristan now, Banya?"

"No one can know but me" she noted wanly, even while opening her wool coat to remove a small bit of metal from inside. "In truth, he moves from place to place where he is needed, using an alias of course. He will only reveal himself to those who possess two particular trinkets as a sign of their trustworthiness. You already have one- the Star of Heroes. I have the other here, a key that was said to be the one used to open and lock Zenobia's gates. Some call it the 'Key of Destiny'."

Once Destin had taken the key, Banya sat up. Bowed as if to a king. "Gods be with you both. I am sorry for the pretence, but I had to be certain you weren't just some jumped-up bunch of bandits who would only make things worse. There are a great deal more of those than heroes in the world nowadays, it seems."

"Well now", Lans remarked. His friend began examining the key once Banya had left. "This changes everything, does it not?"

"The prince", Destin noted as if the words had unmatched importance. _The prince. I must find the prince. _"The one remaining heir to Zenobia. So long as the prince lives, no one else is suitable for the long-term. We have to find him."

"He'll not be in Zenobia", Lans said, looking out the window across the ocean to the west. "The Empire gave our kingdom the closest scrutiny of the four, not only for treasures as Banya said, but survivors of royal blood." Here he shuddered. "They were..._ quite_ thorough in the purges. If the prince did indeed escape his fate twenty-four summers ago, then he'll likely be hiding in either Malano or Deneuve.

Destin sat up. "Not Kasolat?"

"Too dangerous", Lans deferred. "The merfolk control the seas of Kasolat, and sea travel is the only form of travel that matters there. If he hid there, they would have found him by now. Not even the Order of Roshian could successfully hide him there."

"Roshian", Destin remembered unhappily. "Their convocation on Avalon. You've received no word?"

"None. We know that their Grand Monk Forris _was_ caught by Gares, but there's been no news of what they plan to do with her. Shall we prepare to-?"

"No", Destin cut in, reverting back to the bone-tired man who had first answered the door. "We cannot rescue her, at least not yet. Our own numbers were badly depleted from the battle and we still have Zenobia to look after and rebuild. There's trade routes to reestablish, infrastructure to replace, municipalities to restore..." He sighed, joining the knight in staring out across the quiet waves. "In the end, I'm sure we _will_ have to visit Avalon, but not until we're ready to handle whatever is waiting for us there- Every rumour I have ever heard about Gares Endora paints him as a worse enemy to face than any Deva They say he's a monster, the 'true face of evil'. A week, Lans. Give us another week to regroup and recover. I want to see how the Empire reacts to this defeat before we make any more rash moves."

"What _happened_ to you, sir Destin?", his friend asked out of the blue, the question he'd wanted to ask since his friend's return to the castle. "You've bags under your eyes the size of grapes and your skin is more pale than it was after Pogrom Forest. Not sleeping well? Have you been crying?"

Destin considered it. "It is nothing. Nothing important. Just make sure that everyone is keeping up on their training, all right? There's no sign yet, but if they try a naval strike I want to be ready for them."

Lans looked at him for a long moment, still trying to decipher the lie. "Aye. That I will, brother. If it is truly nothing."

For twenty-four years, all Acting-Captain Lans Hamilton had wanted was to throw off the Imperial swine who controlled Zenobia through brute force and terror tactics. Now, that goal had been achieved, and a legitimate heir was within sight. More than he had hoped for. The prince could become the king. All might one day be as it should.

So why did he still feel so uneasy?

* * *

Blaine Diwrnach walked through a cemetery broken as everything else in the capital and waited for Destin to appear. The summons had come half an hour ago, an unusual request given the time of day with the city barely warmed by the morning sun and the leaves not yet stirred by the breeze. Emily Cashel and a ferret-faced wizard named Bergun followed, both of his division's sub-commanders ordered to keep watch for sudden attacks by Imperial survivors or worse.

Emily matched the wizard's confident stride, an aspect which Blaine inspired in most of his people over time, a kind of swagger among those without weapons or training such as the many filthy denizens of the city. For her, however, this was only the tip of the iceberg the changes a month in the Doll Magi's division had wrought in her.

It had started with her first kill, a small band of soldiers trying to break out of the Pogrom District under the command of a beast man and his pet worgen, knowing Kapella Radigan to be dead and castle Goyas destroyed. Before then, every shot she'd fired while grasping the use of the unfamiliar string bow had either missed or been a nonlethal hit, piercing legs or arms or occasionally guts, but only enough to paralyse a foe with pain until one of the other people in Blaine's division could get around to finishing them. Though the ordeal in the forest had left her breathless and weary, her ears did not fail to catch the occasional whispered insult directed at her capabilities by the more seasoned fighters. Of what earthly use was an archer who could never kill?

That day, however, she'd seen the enemy leader perched on a hilltop commanding his men and beasts with equal fervour and knew her time had come. String pulled taut. _Thou shalt not kill. _Sight along the arrow. _Thou shalt not kill._ Remain motionless just before firing. _Thou shalt not kill. _The old blocks, as she thought of them, had flared up as usual but for once the fear of her division leader outweighed the fear of the Gods. Ignoring the burning sensation coursing along her skin she had let fly and watched the arrow fly fast and sure, darting straight through the man's bald head and cutting him off mid-scream.

There had been other archers, but somehow Blaine Diwrnach knew that she had fired the shot, and spent the remainder of the evening congratulating her and coming up with a hundred reasons why it was better to ignore how her stomach was threatening to consume itself from the guilt. Just as they had when they'd met, the words made too much more sense than the scriptures of Roshian to ignore. Particularly, when he'd brought up how fickle and immutable the mind of a killer was.

From then on in, it only got easier. She put an arrow through a soldier's heart at Lake Janneia, and pierced a knight through his visor without having to shut out his howls. A good thing, as her leader had been watching at the time and forcibly gripped her head by the ears, ensuring she would hear and see what she had wrought. He called it progress.

She might have disagreed, but could not deny that Blaine knew the battlefield, knew exactly where she could make her shots count. A shameful part of her felt attracted to him, just as other archers and clerics admitted to feelings for Destin and some of the other less-scarred leaders of the rebellion. It would only be one more broken oath among many to pursue him further. Now she stood, a loyal killer waiting at the Doll Magi's word to put an arrow into something. How far she had come, in so short a time.

"You sure he wanted to meet up here, boss?", Bergun asked uncertainly, picking at his tanned beard with uncharacteristic nervousness. "Odd place for a strategy meeting."

"It's not", Destin explained, stepping out from one of the tallest grave markers bearing no mirth. In the same second, Gilbert Oblion, Harrison Ordas and an Eagle clanner she did not recognize stepped out from their hiding places, surrounding the trio.

"Don't move", Gilbert said from his spot near a well. "You each have an archer trained on you."

Face concealed from everyone but Destin at the front, Blaine Diwrnach tired hard to remain his callous self, always the creepy Karma-user. "Boss. What's the meaning of this?"

Destin remained extremely alert but kept his eyes locked into Blaine's as usual. "You know perfectly well what this is, Blaine. You're the spy."

Blaine dropped his doll. His lean face became a clown's grimace as he tried to laugh the accusation off. "Boss. Boss. I told you before I wouldn't take money to betray you so long things stayed interesting. I told you I didn't accept that guy at Janneia. I killed him. Filled him with acid, and watched him melt."

"We only have your word he was who you say he was", Destin said flatly. "More damning is the fact that Deneb Rhodes does not remember ordering such a coercion."

Blaine spat, anger at his leader rising to the surface to rival Selec Fubuki's. "So you believe that witch's words over mine?"

Destin simply nodded to Harrison Ordas. "Bring him forth."

Another dead body intruded to join the dozens buried beneath their feet, this one carried by two servants. Gashed at the brown skin on his neck, the man's legs and arms hung limp, his eyes shut and mouth slack. "Your contact", Gilbert claimed. "He was caught trying to arrange a meeting with you. You, specifically."

"His name is Tarut Kinjab", Destin continued, never letting himself relax for an instant. "Professional assassin, exiled from the Ninja order by Prochon after taking a job to kill the Imperial Cardinal Rolglynn. Independent now."

Without waiting for further explanation, Gilbert moved past Emily and Bergan and grabbed the Doll Magi's blond hair yanking it so that he could not stand close to his allies. "Stand down", Blaine ordered them before falling to his knees, his robes stained with dirt. "I swear, boss. I swear to the Gods I didn't do anything. This is all a set-up by the Empire!"

Emily thought she could see Destin wavering, but the unknown Eagle man grunted loudly enough to draw attention. "T'would not be worth such effort to set up a wretch like you. We read your histories, Diwrnach. The village of Kotess. The slaughter of the children there. No magician of integrity would make such a sacrifice."

"You like leading bands of killers", Destin noted. "Even before the rebellion, you liked having the autonomy to kill and pillage. Only a matter of time before you began to hunger for my position. Leader of a war band of hundreds, how could you resist?" Unable to look him in the eye any longer, he studied the wet dirt below. "You have one minute to make your peace with the Gods."

So quickly, Ordas directed her and Bergan out of the graveyard, with the archers now visible on a number of rooftops all the extra incentive he required. Emily began to weep and Bergan downed the hood of his robe so that none could see his face. They could still hear it though, with Blaine's voice cheery as ever regardless of whether he was praying or not. "No compunctions then, beast man? I noticed ever-virtuous Lancelot isn't here to watch this."

"Lans", Gilbert shot back, "has other matters to attend to. He would understand that we cannot permit traitors to live. In fact he would insist. Fifty seconds."

A long silence followed. Finally, she could sense her leader giving in. "Don't punish my people. They had nothing to do with this."

"That remains to be seen", Destin said without mercy. "If they demonstrate proper loyalty to the cause then they have nothing to fear from us. Thirty seconds."

He did not need twenty. Emily was already out of sight at the time, but Blaine Diwrnach had taught her well enough now to recognize the sounds of a scuffle, and she struggled to peek at the man's final actions. "Been a fun game, oh gracious leader. Shame it had to end so soon-"

There was fighting. An acid cloud released and a sword used to dissipate so only mild burns were inflicted. Then the unmistakable sound of arrows flying through the air from all sides, and the sound of a man breathing his last. There was almost no need to struggle now, as Harrison was equally rooted to the spot by what they were experiencing. "Thought so", the Eagle man's svelte voice came back. "A karmatic totem, fashioned in your likeness. All he had to do was stab it, and you'd die, lord Destin. Without even knowing why."

"Devious bastard. He had it all ready and everything."

Ducking away from the talking, away from everything, Emily bit her lip until she tasted her own blood.

That very night, an enquiry was made into the loyalties of her and Bergan. Each were sent different messengers in secret in a vain effort to separate them, asking what sort of association, if any, they had with Blaine Diwrnach's plot to kill Destin and take control of the rebellion.

She could not tell what words Bergan spoke to get himself selected as the new leader of their division, under the watchful eyes of Tomas ap Neralai. Every answer was what she presumed they wanted to hear. No, she had not heard a single word about a usurpation. No, Blaine had never given indications of treachery. No, her loyalty was to the rebellion, not to the man who had brought her into a whole new world, made her what she was today.

And unlike several others in Blaine's division, she wasn't executed in the morning. They had believed every word, and if it took the rest of her life, she would make Destin Faroda regret that foolish decision.

* * *

Warren Moon requested a room to himself that evening. An isolated chamber high up in one of the castle towers, featuring a small balcony but little other means of external access. Gazing out at the stars once he'd locked the door tight, he began to lay out his old Tarot deck on a small table the same way he had at his own castle. This one was smaller by the limits of structural rules, but it would serve his purposes all the same.

"Mighty Gods who dwell above us", the Sage intoned, incense burning in his nostrils but not slurring his speech. "Jesp, Qekmgmer, T'vmistiss, Eqvitess, Eqitevv, Hemvsthert, Psvevs, Ghevmst, Stverkth, Heqmht, Fauture... Guide us. Show us the path ahead, so that we might better serve your will. _The Arcana is the means by which all is revealed_. _Pazzo, Mago, Prete, Imperatrice! Imperatore!_"

As practised as a sword arm in the ways of the Tarot, he reached out to the first of the three piles. There was the Tower Card, but it was upside-down, possibly representing the opposite of the usual meanings of isolation and stubbornness.

The Sage thought to himself. A promising beginning, but with few hints as to just how much of the past it looked upon, and what parts of it bode well for the world at large. Or if what was good for the Gods was anything like what was good for the rebellion.

For in truth, the folk from every reach of Zenobia were no less abusive and callous towards their own world than their enemies- humanity was the reason the ley lines that had once covered the kingdom had been gradually shrinking for centuries, until only a fraction of the divine remained, and still more than any other land of the South. There would always be the harrowing possibility that the Gods' current desire was the death of all humans and demi-humans, so that They might start fresh with a new species more respectful to Their will.

"Jesp", Warren repeated, solemnly enunciating the Celtic deity. "Jesp of the _Lebor Bretnach_. Ye who chose the boy as your avatar. What lies ahead for your pawn, and what may I do to guide him to this fate?"

He reached out again, to the center pile. A gender-neutral figure with brown bangs holding a scale looked back, and Warren noticed for the first time how that figure's armour looked similar to Destin's own.

"Number eleven. _Nywmefi_. Justice", Warren whispered. "A meeting with our leader's other half, or...?" Silently, he hoped that wasn't the case. For all his adventures and trials so far, Destin was not yet ready to deal with the single most dominating figure in his life. The scales might yet slip towards chaos if that happened.

"Towards the future, then", he allowed, moving on the next pile. "A balancing of the scales. A parallel formed with another, and a parting of the ways. But brother Rashidi will not make things easy for us, even if he is preoccupied with other things. I know his power, his drive to achieve everlasting greatness at any cost, better than most. What will be the eventual outcome of his quest?"

He touched the top card.

The world imploded, collapsing in on itself as though the tower had been struck by a burning missile. Warren had only experienced such a thing once before, back when he'd first learned of Destiny's Child, and his experience did make it any less rattling. Images, sights, feelings and sounds overwhelmed his senses, overlapping until he could not tell what was real, only look upon what he could make out, and later interpret for himself what it all meant. _A perfect analogy for Tarot reading if ever there was one_ he thought, too thunderstruck to laugh at the absurdity of it.

The future, as any expert of the Tarot would insist, was not fixed. Whether or not the lands of the south and beyond were fully at the whim of the Twenty-Two or the Goddess Freya or something else entirely remained open to debate, but for the little beings who scurried about upon it made no difference. There were, however, places where lines of probability intersected more frequently, indicating the most likely outcomes. Feeling the weight of the journey to one of the most likely fates that had not yet been taken, Warren Moon peered closer and balked at what he saw.

A frantic war engulfing not only Zenobia, but the other lands of the south as well. Rebels and Empire, locked in a life-or-death struggle where one and then the other was forced to escalate their power or be forever destroyed. Thousands dead on both sides, and every life lost deepening the grudge between them. All the while, an invisible hand ensuring the conflict would not end until they had located what they desired.

Then... the culmination. The twelve Zodiac Stones collected and their runes translated. A white-marble altar with red carpeting, defended to the death by soldiers all while an expert spellcaster recited a new and lengthy incantation.

The altar erupting with impossible energy, geysering into the skies above. The geyser turning the sky blood-red wherever it touched, spreading out like a cancer before inflicting similar effects on the land below. Plants burned and lakes boiled and evaporated at the energy's touch, leaving behind naught but blackened wasteland where no being but the energy's own creations could live.

Those same creations ravaging their way across the lands of the south. Vile and violent they were, ebony-skinned brutes twelve feet tall tinged with an infernal light, understanding only cruelty and amply equipped to deliver it to the five kingdoms in a fiery apocalypse, along with the tainted sky that heralded the end of all life that was not their own in the mortal world, which they would rule eternally beneath the eyes of their dark God...

Warren fell from his seat, only now freed enough from the visions to see the card for what it was, and even then he could not easily shake his mind away from the horrors he had witnessed. His calm, his seventy and five years of experience, had deserted him entirely. He felt like a child hiding from monsters beneath his bed again. _This war... I had no idea... The stakes..._

The blank card, Destin's card, stared back at him, and he cringed. "The Ogre Battle", the Moon Sage whispered in abject dread. "It comes, and soon."

* * *

**Interlude**

So it was. And so it became.

The night grows long. Shall we take a break for the moment? I can see the enthusiasm in your young eyes, still so blissfully uncomplicated. But this old warrior is not made of stone, and nor are you. The tale is a long one, I know. Take a break, then. Return the same time tomorrow evening and I shall relate to you the rest of the tale.

Hm? You wish to know more?

Very well. Were the world to end tomorrow morning, then I might at least wish to tie up a few loose ends for you, so that you might depart without any niggling questions.

So it was. More than a week was spent after the battle of Zenobia simply picking up the pieces. Messengers were dispatched to all corners of the kingdom and caravans of resources after them, to deliver their payloads where needed, beginning what would no doubt be a long and strenuous return to Zenobia's former glory. There was no sign of any of Zodiac Stones, but Destin Faroda, son of Lexar Faroda, did not care. He claimed he only wished to undo the damage we had caused to the lands we had fought to save.

We had suffered grievous losses, crippled even in the light of an unexpected victory. Bors, Kumo, the bird-man Jumai, Garla, Jennifer, Liat, and nearly a hundred others had met their end in the battle to take the capital. What remained behind was the pinnacle of Zenobia's skilled fighters, bloodied warriors who had either been veterans from the start or become that way over time, energetic new fighters like Harrison Ordas hoping to make a name for themselves whenever the rebellion resumed the offensive. I do not profess to guess about what exactly in a man's blood makes them a natural soldier, only that the gift was evenly spread between those of noble blood and those who were not. Beast Lord Lyon had proven that, as had Canopus and his entire division of bird men.

As had Destin Faroda. Never mind that he had lost in the end, had nearly been decapitated. To stand against the 1st Deva for as long as he did and yet live was a miracle surpassing anything that had come before, even the termite plague or Kapella. The people took notice, and for the first time dared to dream of a day when the shadow of the Empire did not lay so heavily upon them.

However, the termite plague was another aspect which the Empire scrambled to turn against him in the growing battle for hearts and minds across the lands of the South. We would learn later on that Malano, the Empire's other major supplier of foodstuffs and labour, had experienced repeated crop failures all across the merchant nation. A plant-eating insect, impossible to fight effectively without destroying much of their grain supplies. Just the small amounts of venom left behind in a partially eaten stalk could make a man break out into painful boils all across their skin and could even cause death in large quantities. The simple fear of accidentally ingesting it outlived the insects by many months among the people.

For this and a handful of other misfortunes, the Empire blamed the wizards under Destin's command. He was now public enemy number one, his name known in every town and city. The Empire's elites everywhere from Diaspola to Allamoot sharpened their blades in anticipation of spilling a twenty-nine year old man's blood. Every squad captain, every public official whose position was threatened, and every division leader. Kaus Debonair's peers, Luvalon, Previa and Figaro, were included in this desire.

To clarify, we would soon learn the hard way how the Empire's army was organized beyond the Deva commanders. Of the thousands under their command, exactly four-thousand, four hundred and forty-four soldiers were selected for the rank of _Einherjar_, elite designations that gave them the authority to take command of non-_Einherjar_ when required. Each of these were subdivided by three ranks, ascending from weakest to strongest. Four thousand were made 1st Rank like Liana Fordrannon, instructed in the use of simple magics and mastery of their chosen weapon. Beyond that was the 2nd Rank of _Einherjar_, four hundred selected from among the four thousand of the 1st Rank for demonstrating exceptional skill. Whether through written word or an unofficial prejudice only Dragoners, Dragon Masters, Valkyrie, Muses and Paladins were ever elevated to the 2nd Rank and taught spirit-techniques like the Iainuki and Blade. Furthermore, the 2nd Rank would be instructed in the taming and use of Dragons were they not already. Beyond this lay the 3rd and greatest Rank of _Einherjar_, numbering only forty but as far beyond Imperial troops as they were beyond normal humans, and the four who exceeded even that standard of power were named Deva, which might be consider a 4th rank were they not too far beyond the 3rd to be considered in that way, each one personally handpicked from the 3rd by the Supreme Overlord and arranged numerically by order of strength, from one to four. For all of his prowess, Kaus Debonair would be only the first.

Nearly the entirety of this army was pulled back from the border dividing Zeteginea and Malano from Lodis, only leaving sufficient defenders to prevent an attack by our mysterious neighbour to the north. The bulk of this was sent to the lands bordering the Empire's huge eastern coast across the sea, where any attempt at a rebel attack would have no choice but to tread if they ever wished to retake the lands that had once been Zenobia's vassal nations. Soon the countries of Deneuve and Malano were host to nearly a dozen Imperial legions intensifying their supply issues, each one of those composed of twenty divisions organized under a high-ranked leader such as a Deva, a 3rd or 2nd Rank _Einherjar,_ or an Imperial Baron.

Everyone knew the rebellion army would need to expand and grow if it was going to survive this threat. Destin Faroda seemed to understand this from the very start. Though he himself remained too burned-out from his duel to fight openly for the first week, he advocated the creation of advanced training regimens and recruitment for those under his command with all haste. Anyone who knew untapped fighters in their line of work was requested to send out letters asking them to join us. While Lyon and Gilbert searched the land for competent Beast tamers and equally useful beasts, Canopus scoured every place his wings would take him for bird men of all clans who had not yet chosen a side in the growing conflict, rallying them to a banner that promised equal rights for the descendents of Angels. Even the two ghosts from the Pogrom Forest had been able to locate a group of living skeletons somewhere and convince them to serve the rebel cause, oblivious to the resentment the undead faced from all sides.

The rebel army grew both in size and diversity as this time of peace wore on into the annual festival of Lughnasa, and with it grew a collective confidence that had not been there before. The Empire's 12 legions waited patiently across the sea that divided our nations as we partied and relaxed and ate fried fish, no doubt eager to spill rebel blood and avenge their comrades, but also too disciplined to go against orders.

Even so, to create the talented heroes to match the Empire's vast collection of living legends would take a great deal of time and effort- the Wind Rider and the Beast Lord were a start, but _every_ rebel survivor would have to equal their level of skill and dedication for us to have a chance in the coming trials. Reldin, Harrison, Arbalow, Jurai, Moraine, Bergan, Yulie, Sara, Yenda, Tsuno, Tomas, Fubuki, Lyon, Ashe, Talos... He did not let any of them slacken for a lack of opponents, kept them on course by force or threat of force, even at the risk of becoming disliked by his people. It was an attitude I had never seen our leader take before, and Gods know it frightened me.

Not so much, however, as the other 'company' that our leader kept during the painstaking reconstruction of Zenobia. Deneb Rhodes had been as good as her word, remaining behind in castle Valparin and only pining for Destin to visit her whenever he could. Their rendevous' took place behind closed doors and always left our leader refreshed and ready to face whatever challenge the new day brought us.

We all had women, but no one else trusted Deneb. She was a witch who had sold herself out to the Empire for nothing but more ingredients to continue her unholy experiments with, to eventually create something called a 'Glass Pumpkin'. Until Destin had come into her life, nothing else but this had mattered to her. When the witch in question was that seductively beautiful after purportedly living for more than 200 years, some suspicion was only natural. When such a being took a fancy to having Destin in her clutches with no one watching them... the imagination races as to what they were doing together.

And Rashidi? The legendary hero departed from Zenobia that night without a single person reporting seeing him leave. The full extent of his powers. What his plans were for the 12 Zodiac stones. For the rebellion, and most of all what madness had turned him against his sworn liege to begin with, would all remain his secret alone until he chose to reveal them, though everyone knew that the Sage of Light would be the rebellion's greatest obstacle. They would not be far wrong in that.

Had I known what was to come, of the disastrous path that young Destin Faroda was soon to tread, and of how his dream of hope turned to one of darkness... well. I drive ahead of myself again. Blissfully unaware of what horrors lay in his future, for the time being he seemed very happy, and his happiness spread to those who trusted and believed in him. He had become Destin the Valiant, a legendary hero whom all the people of Zenobia and her vassals extolled as their saviour, a divine being sent to answer the prayers of an oppressed people. Ally to good. Eternal nightmare to the Black Queen and all those who served her.

And so it was, and so it became for several golden weeks, until one fine spring morning as the flowers bloomed a priest arrived from Avalon bearing ill news...

* * *

**End Of Part One**

**

* * *

Author's Note: **I figured this would be as good a place as any to mark the halfway point, as well as a short break I'll be taking from this. In my experience, no project can remain interesting when you spend months on it at a time. While I don't wish to spoil too much of the second half-in-progress, let me say the narrator's predictions are not hyperbole. Dark times are coming.

Until then, I would like to hear back from anyone who's interested in contributing about which characters you like and wish to see developed further besides Destin Faroda, as I deliberately made the cast extremely large (it is an army after all). In fact it sometimes feels as though I'm making Destin seem too perfect, but rest assured the second half will lay his ugly side bare, and may even change the story's rating to M. But of course, the game had a lot more characters in it than just the opinion leader, so let me know who or which class you want to see more of!

Good day to all readers, and Happy Halloween.


	13. The Black Knight

Disc: Once more, the Ogre Battle series is the property of Enix, now Square-Enix.

* * *

**The Black Knight**

* * *

**Tarot XI - Justice**

_The Fool is looking for a new path, a new aspiration and inspiration for his life. Sitting uncertain at a cross-roads, he notices a blind wise woman listening to two brothers argue over an inheritance. They have come to her for judgment. One brother has the whole inheritance, the other has nothing. "I ask that all of it be given to me," the poor brother demands, "Not only because I have a better right to it, but because I will not be wasteful with it, as he is!" But the rich brother protests, "It is rightfully mine and that's all that should matter, not what I do with it!" The woman listens, then awards half of the rich brother's inheritance to the poor brother. The Fool thinks this only fair, but neither brother is happy. The rich one hates losing half his wealth, and the poor one feels he ought to have gotten all. _

_"You were fair," he remarks to the woman after they have left. "Yes, I was," she answers plainly. "With only half the inheritance, the rich one will stop being so wasteful. And the poor one will have as much as he needs. Even though they cannot see it, this decision was good for both." _

_The Fool thinks on this, and new insight on his own life comes to mind. He realizes that he has spent his life achieving worldly ambitions, physical goods, while leaving his spiritual self to starve, primarily because he didn't want to make the sacrifices necessary to feed his spiritual self. Now, he sees that this is necessary, the only path he has not walked, one he must walk to regain his equilibrium. Thanking the woman, he heads out with new purpose. It is time to balance his own inner scales._

* * *

_Dusk. The Isle Avalon awaits our rescue, a land of greater magic than even Zenobia, once home to the dragons. Is it beautiful compared to Malano? Is it vast compared to Deneuve?_

_Thanks to Warren, I've seen much of the world. I better understand the creatures which dwell within it, just as I understand that their desires are not my own. As Rashidi said I _am_ different. Special in some way, but at the same time I stand a world apart from the simple people I that have vowed to save._

_None of them understand what it is to have a hundred men trust you with their lives, nor to take a hundred more to secure the hundred you like. Fair's fair- I cannot understand the desire to produce caterwauling little grubs who consume and give nothing back in return. Many of my books back on the Tor state there is a pride and joy inherent to it, something that only those who bear children can fully grasp. As I live, they would be completely right._

_Forget it. I don't need any of it. I have Deneb, I have her empathy and love. That is all that I need. She always understands me. Romance is not my battlefield. The battlefield is my battlefield. And its annoying brother Politics, at least, is now comprehensible to me..._

_I understand now what Empress Endora was trying to do here. Unite the five kingdoms into an alliance. A grand venture. If it had worked, the resulting force would be powerful enough to defeat any opposing army in the known world. Lodis would cease to be a threat, as would Valeria and Palatinus. Even lands as far-off as Ivalice would have no chance against our might. They would fall in turn, their resources added to our own until all was the same pool, rationed out to the people so that no man or woman would ever go hungry again. We could bring civilization and peace to places where there had been none._

_That was Empress Endora's dream for the people, once. But the Highlanders only know how to fight. Their ways are not our ways. She hasn't united the kingdoms under her. She's united them _against _her. Her dream, worthy as it is, was undone before I even learned of it in my books._

_Doesn't mean that someone else can't pick it back up again, and do it right._

* * *

**Imperial Year 25**

The Isle Avalon lay shrouded in mist emanating from the highest cliffs down to the shores. Few men could say for sure whether the island was positioned in such a way as to be so affected year round or if its previous owners had placed a curse upon it to scare off intruders, but in a land where magic had once thrived and dragons roamed the latter seemed a more likely possibility. A collection of slender boats roped together, curved and sized somewhere between canoes and dinghies, navigated into this mist with a purpose, revealed only by the lamps hanging from their sterns.

Destin Faroda of the rebellion watched these lamps carefully, ensuring that no one would get lost or capsize on the way to the shore. The reorganized division chiefs had been briefed before they had set out from the harbour of Kal Robst, and everyone would no doubt be on the lookout for hostile merfolk attacking. Which was to say, _any_ merfolk. For more than a decade the half-woman, half-fish beings had been the Empire's most staunch non-human allies, and anyone who did not feel a chill of uneasiness upon entering their world was either too stupid to man a boat or to join the rebellion to begin with.

"The air here", he heard Harrison Ordas observe uneasily from the front of his own boat. "It feels strange. Not threatening, just... strange."

"The Isle of Avalon is a holy site for all believers in the old Gods", Warren's easterling apprentice Tsuno said appraisingly, friendly and less-accented than most of his kind. "More than any other place in Zenobia, it retains the magic that once flourished in this land. The single biggest ley point still intact in this day and age." He grinned behind his rumpled hood. "So our magics, my lord, will be more potent here than anywhere else in the world."

"As will theirs", Destin pointed out. "But then, we have no idea what kind of forces Gares brought with him to take the isle besides the merfolk. Could be they don't even have any Zenobian wizards, though I hear the merfolk do possess some ample magic."

"Nothing that compares to ours", Tsuno assured him, so confident and supportive that it seemed impossible that he and Fubuki came from the same land. "Until we actually reach the Black Knight, you can rely on my people to see us through. How _is_ your recovery, by the way?"

Destin grunted. "Not now, Tsuno. I believe we have company."

"But I don't see any-"

His leader pointed. "The water. It's gone completely still. How can it be still when we're barely fifty meters from the shore?"

Tsuno and Harrison had no time to answer him before dark figures shot out of the water all around the boats with loud splashes. Cries of panic erupted throughout the convoy, but they were more surprised by the speed of their foes than their lethality. Before the first casualty fell into the surf with a trident in his gut, three boats back Fubuki had beheaded one attacker and shot an Iainuki speeding across the water at some kind of frothing disturbance off in the distance. Others reacted nearly as fast, with Tsuno rallying all of the wizards to direct bolts of lightning into the water around them, purportedly the best weapon against merfolk.

Destin could see them clearly now, even with how fast they lept to and from the surface while attacking. Despite the writhing purple fish-tails that composed their bottoms and the grim looks on their faces as they fought, the mermaids were uniformly beautiful by the standards of human women, or at least their top-halves were. The fangs in their mouths and how inhumanly fast they moved in water kind of killed the effect though, and the rest of the rebels did not hesitate overlong. Two frenzied minutes of chaos after, the surviving mermaids retreated, raising their tail fins high as they sped back across the water as a form of insult. Looking around, he could see only a handful of his people had been stabbed or dragged down into the depths with the merfolk, one of the unit's clerics among them.

"See?", Tsuno gasped, spitting out water as he climbed out of the shallows that had nearly become his tomb. "No... heh... no problem."

Ignoring him, Destin looked over the mage's shoulder and breathed a sigh of relief. Division leaders Yenda and Selec Fubuki had both survived the attack, as had the two runners they'd brought with them. Climbing over into their boat, he regarded the two weaponless men, both plain of face and clothing.

"That should be the only resistance until we get to the island itself", he said. "Once we make shorefall, I need for you two to contact the runners from Ashe and Gilbert's groups. Ashe will be landing further north along the shoreline, and Gilbert's lot to the far east. We're sticking to the plan- all three groups will converge at the woods outside Tomayang, killing all opposition in the way. If either group encounters a problem, inform us immediately."

"Because of course sir Ashe and sir Gilbert would never ask us that on their own", one the runners commented dourly. "Don't worry, sir. We're not amateurs, any of us. Not anymore."

"That is what I am afraid of", he countered evenly. "Don't be overconfident, and don't take unnecessary risks- Gares will not hesitate to kill you just because you're unarmed, and neither will his division leaders."

Destin's group made shorefall without further incident, tying their boats to rocks before preparing to set out down the most used-looking path. "We get the easy job", Sara complained while helping a knight tie the last boat to a rock. "I'll wager Goth the fishwives'll hit Gilbert and Ashe harder now tha' they know we're here."

"At the start, perhaps", Harrison commented warily. They were of the same young age, but one bash to the face from the cleric's ankh staff had left him wary of the girl's temper, and he no longer attempted to further an active relationship with her. "They get nice clean forest paths after they get to the shore. We get to travel over live volcanoes."

"Volcanoes", she echoed haltingly. "Um... why... _why _are we going over volcanoes?"

"There's a hidden Roshian temple there", Destin answered her simply, having overheard her doubts from his own boat. "Concealed beneath the ash clouds most of the day so that no flier can see it. It is said to be the base of operations for the convocation army, or whatever is left of them now. We wanted to make contact with them and confirm their request to us before taking the battle to Gares."

"Huh", Sara mused. "Back home at the heart of the Order, eh... Funny. Always wanted to visit the grand temple, just not like this."

"And I would not worry about our friends", he continued, patting his most reliable cleric on the back. "Gilbert's group has Halla and the rest of our undead friends watching their backs, and Ashe has Talos with him." The latter pairing had been a concession to the golem's unflinching attitude towards Ashe, wordless yet firm. They would not be separated, even as Ashe had boarded a boat too fragile to hold a golem. Talos had walked alongside Ashe's vessel, willing to walk the sea floor, submerged beneath water more than a hundred feet overhead in order to stay with the man who the golem still considered to be a convict.

"All the same, I'd feel better if they had some wizards with them as well", Harrison remarked. "Like Sara said, the fishwives won't take this lying down. They're relentless. What about Warren? Who is he-"

He stopped, tripped up by the downcast look that had suddenly come over their leader's face when he'd said the word 'Warren'. "Warren's not here", Destin said before turning and leaving, ignoring any plea by his gossip-hungry second to share more details. "He's not coming."

* * *

Ducking behind a rock just in time, Gilbert cursed at the feeling of intense heat washing over his cover even though most of his allies had gotten away in time to avoid the firewall. There was ancient magic here all right, permeating every drop of water and every blade of grass. "_Mages_", Tomas Neralai snarled, barely legible over the overlapping chanting of the enemy's Arcane spells. "Were it night I'd still watch my step here. Any ideas, lord Oblion?"

Gilbert surveyed the smouldering canyon again, watching for signs of another enemy being sent to flush his people out into the open. Three of the advanced wizards Tomas had spoken of were doing an admirable job holding the rocky passage into the humble burg of Taljin, the traitors to their country hurling spell after spell without tiring or scarring their parchment-yellow robes. The first charge had been a failure and resulted in two casualties, simply because the bearded spellcasters had possessed such a strong frontal defence in the form of a legion of ghosts following their orders. A well-organized division, augmented by undead the Empire had recruited from Gods knew where. _As if the mermaids weren't bad enough..._

"We have the same advantage", his reasoned aloud to the werewolf. "Move in. Signal Halla's... ahem... 'people'. Tell them to come in on the right flank after Mischa distracts them. Would you like to join them?"

Sir Neralai grinned savagely, showing yellowed teeth. "Who, Mischa?"

Gilbert scoffed back. "As if you could handle her. Don't worry. I know perfectly well how vulnerable a creature such as yourself feels in the daytime."

"No you don't", Tomas growled after waiting for the sound of a rocking blast of thunder to subside. "How can_ you_ know, Beast Lord? Have you ever experienced the power of my other form firsthand? Have you ever felt that animal impulse rising in you, sweeping aside your rational mind like the waves on these beaches? No. Of course you haven't."

Taking a moment to coordinate Halla's strike, Gilbert deliberately stuck one leg out from behind the rock to draw a blizzard to it, then darted with Tomas and two others over to a larger rock formation. "I can imagine. Still bearing a perfect memory of all that power and ruthlessness you enjoyed at night, you're forced into a squishy pink prison that seems more fragile than glass by comparison. You fear to battle in the day now."

"Yeah", Tomas said quietly, not quite believing how well Gilbert had guessed his mind. "That's... that's exactly right. I'm losing myself day by day, and a part of me wants that process to hurry along. How?"

Gilbert responded first with a birdlike screech that would command his surviving Wyrm to fake a suicide strike from above. "For the record, I'm not yet worthy of the title of Beast Lord."

"Only a beast at night", Tomas corrected him with a yellow-toothed snarl. "And if that pompous prick Lyon can claim to be one, then you most certainly are- he's only a mercenary. You are ten times more experienced and knowledgeable about dealing with animals than he."

"Not of dragons", Gilbert noted even while watching Mischa's barrage of fireballs be blocked by a cloud of unhealthy-looking green mist that seemed itself alive. The responding bolts from the mages nearly tore through the creature's wings before she got away, but thankfully they hadn't thought to use ice spells against her. "There. Good girl. Until I learn to properly tame the dragonkin sir Neralai, I cannot be so proud as to call myself by such a title. Integrity and responsibility; they are my watchdogs. I'm familiar with the theory, I just haven't had much time to-"

"Yeah", the werewolf remarked, glancing back at the boats to ensure they hadn't been damaged by a stray spell. "We've been kind of busy, in case you forgot."

It was then that the screams began to issue from the rear of the enemy formation, certainly caused by the advance of the rebel's own group of undead. Whether the enemy-controlled ghosts were naturally reluctant to harm their own kind, or they just _couldn't_, the vast cloud of white mist parted for Inglesias, Halla, and the trio of walking skeletons they'd brought on board. Gilbert hadn't bothered remembering their names. The undead weren't people, after all. Not anymore.

The Imperial mages were caught completely flat-footed by the new undead. One shot off a blizzard spell, generating a chunk of ice the size of a house with the power of Avalon, but their attackers had no organs or skin to freeze. The skeletons drew their swords before anyone else could try, wordlessly hacking them apart until even Tomas turned his head away from the grisly sight. "One good thing about having such abominations in our ranks- we'll always have someone more bloodthirsty than me to make me feel better."

"That would be Blaine Diwrnach", Gilbert said, playing along before rallying his people back into a proper line and waving Lyon's group over to cover their advance. "But I get what you mean."

* * *

Even as a young warrior, Ashe had always been a man of many strange tales. He had not bothered to mention it, but he remembered the war shriek of the Wind Rider well from the fall of Zenobia a quarter-century ago.

Canopus Walf's fellow bird men echoed that keening cry, more angry bird than angry man as they tore a pack of black-feathered Raven clanners from the sky one by one. One flew too low trying to dodge Jurai, and Talos reached up to grab the bird by the legs before bashing him face-first into the earth of Avalon.

"You would be the division leader, then", the old captain observed upon seeing the bird man's black bandana, as much a symbol in his clan as a gold one was among the Eagle men or felt red among the Hawks. "Don't suppose you would know where the Highland prince is by chance, would you?"

"Go to Hel, _human_", the Raven man spat, covered in dark accoutrements that obscured any blood. "If Lord Gares learns we've betrayed him, our lives can be measured in minutes."

"Your life can be measured in seconds right now", Ashe pointed out, pleased to see that decades of stasis had not cured him of the penchant for banter that had so annoyed his late superiors. There was something quite satisfying in beating the young in a duel of wits or blades, that he could not deny to himself. On cue, Talos tightened its grip, causing the bird man to choke and thrash wildly. "And I somehow doubt you'd use the same tone with your _human_ master."

Spreading his crumpled wings to force the golem's palm up a few feet of precious forest air, the Imperial flier laughed brokenly. "You're out of the loop, old man. The Black Knight might have been born a Zeteginean human, but now he's become something beyond us, beyond imagination. Dare to challenge him, and he shall kill you all with but a gesture."

Kneeling down on one knee and feeling the joints creak, Ashe drew closer. "I guess that shall be that. I ask that you leave this isle with your surviving people. You can no longer help your chosen lord."

The Raven man did not look happy but he did not protest as Talos let him stand and glide off for parts unknown on the isle. There was always the chance that they might return to attack one of the other rebel groups, but they were weak enough opponents that Ashe was willing to take that chance.

Judging by the look beneath his visor as he strode up, Lans Hamilton did not agree with this. "You're getting soft, sir Ashe. These sub-humans betrayed their people. They won't give up until they are dead."

"Then I would let one of their own decide their fate", he said, looking up at Canopus as he rallied his own division up above, ensuring there were no enemies left in the region. A more merciless judge, but still fair. The Wind Rider and Lans had more in common than they would ever admit, including a lack of empathy for their own kind more than any other foe. "Deride them all you like my friend, but I believe that all people deserve a second chance, human or no. Preemptive killing is the way of the Dark. It's the path that led prince Gares to become what he is today."

He let Lans chew sourly on that one for a while. His old subordinate was clearly searching for a way to express his disagreement without being wilful towards someone he had naught but the highest of respect for. "I would have smothered such an infant in his crib", he finally managed as if he hadn't stopped talking to think for several minutes about it. "A few judicious executions shall not make us as vile as he. That is war."

Following him down the slope, Ashe fought to avoid a patronizing smirk. Lans might be twice as old as he was during the last war, but in many ways he was still the overeager warrior, ignorant of the traps all those who fought monsters could just as easily fall into. "Aye? Gares Endora was a gentle lad once, my friend. Handsome and witty, if never exactly kind or warm. People once claimed that he and the Lady Rauny Vinzalf- the Overlord Hikash's eldest daughter- were destined to be together."

Lans balked. This was news to him, for little word was ever made of the Overlord's daughter, only that she was an accomplished fighter in her own right and had disappeared some time ago. "Then what, pray tell, could have possessed him to become such a butcher, short of a demon's possession?"

Stopping to direct the next leg of their journey along the north rim of the island to the city of Tomayang took some time, but again Ashe did not lose the course of their talk over such an intermission, and this pleased him. Unlike others his age, his long memory would not be failing him any time soon. "I cannot say for certain... but I am one of the only people alive today who know of some of the trials one must undertake to become a Black Knight. Warren Moon knows, but he's not sharing."

Looking back, he realized that some of their clerics had gotten closer as they marched, wanting to hear the story. He angrily shooed the girls away before continuing. "Think on your own soul, my friend. If you suddenly had the urge to, say, corner one of those charming young ladies in our next rest break and, let us say, force yourself upon her, what would stop you?"

Lans looked absolutely mortified at the mere suggestion that he would do such a thing, clutching at his brown belt pouch Ashe knew always held his most prized treasure. "The fact that I swore never to bed another after my Laura died. A sense of decency!"

"Your _conscience_", Ashe affirmed. "Or your soul, as the Roshian Order claims. Well, in their time the Order of the Black Knights viewed the conscience as a limiter added to all humans or demi-humans at an early age. A limiter which holds back one's full potential and strength. Of course many in the world learn to ignore it over time, or appease it with charitable acts in other areas of their lives... But the Black Knights- or the Dark Knights as they are known in some circles- are mayhap the only organization in all the world who saw it as an obstacle to be slain, maimed and broken until it has no hold upon one whatsoever."

Lans spat in abject disgust, but like so many people Ashe had known in his lifetime he remained enraptured by tales of vice and depravity, so long as they remained separated by a large distance from his own life. "A philosophy of pure evil, captain. But how? How did they go about slaying their own consciences?"

_Ah, so easily led. I'm getting too old for this._

"A number of ways", Ashe replied. "Mainly by deliberately forcing themselves to commit acts traditionally labelled as 'evil', until they no longer felt any resistance to it. But the most prevalent rumour is the trial which prince Gares undertook shortly after the first war, the biggest contributor to his current state of mind."

Lans stopped walking, requiring no words for Ashe to understand an imploring for the juicy details. "No", Ashe said. "I think not. Not until we have dealt with the man of whom we discuss. And do not fret, my friend- _that _is one dark being I shan't hesitate to slay. His time has come, and it is long overdue."

* * *

The Order of Roshian's hidden temple was called a 'grand temple' in name only, for besides an encircling wall and tall double doors it remained quite similar to the dozens of other temples the rebels had used and grown accustomed to using as rest stops. Only its location was truly unique, somehow nestled into the heart of a ring of five volcanoes without any sign of lasting heat-damage, only the stifling clouds of ash blocking out the sun and limiting visibility to a few dozen feet. Without the messenger serving as their guide, Destin's group might never have found it.

"We had a true grand temple once", the messenger admitted as they descended a winding slope to where several other priests waited. "In Antalya, until the Imperial swine saw fit to raze it to the ground, claiming it was a sanctuary for 'undesirables'."

Ears perked up, Harrison Ordas leaned over to listen. "And was it?"

The rail-thin priest scoffed. "Of course it was! Where else could they go that would give them sanctuary?" Saying no more, he ran past the others up the steps to embrace one of the other priests like a brother. Approaching the temple with nearly as much enthusiasm, Destin pushed up the steps and took a priests' offered hand as well. "I cannot say how sorry we are to hear of the Grand Monk's passing."

"We appreciate your kind words", the man said as the rest of Destin's group was taken into the temple. "When she was killed, we knew that your revolutionary army was now our only chance to expel Prince Gares from the isle of the Gods."

"You were the one who requested us then?", Harrison asked.

"No", one of the other priests corrected him with a far deeper voice, pushing back his brown hood to reveal a black-bearded man with a crooked nose and green eyes. "That would be me. I am father Zalas of Roshian. The Grand Monk left me in command of the convocation in the event of her demise." The priest then lowered his head, fiddling with his curly beard in contrition. "Though admittedly, my authority here is limited. Unlike poor Forris, few people outside the temples know or respect my name, knowing me only as the original lord of Avalon's temples- before Gares destroyed all of them but this one, that is. If the Paladin's headstrong captain, sir Talesin, were still alive, I would not put it past him to secede from us after all that has passed."

Here they passed through the temple's healing wing, which was already in heavy use by the aforementioned paladins as well as priests and clerics. The occasional scream hit Destin's ear, and nodded silently to the cleric Sara Ellgwyr, giving her the okay she'd wanted to go and join them. "It sounds worse than I'd been led to believe."

"It is", Zalas assured him plainly. "The Order's paladins swore their lives to defending the Grand Monk along with the rest of our Order here. Only four of them yet live now, and only two still capable of holding a sword." He inclined his head towards a man with a magical injury that made Harrison and several others look away- an icy white tone consuming the man's entire left arm, leaving it brittle as glass. A dark bruise on the man's scalp spoke of physical attacks as well. "Even _our _healing powers have their limits. Sir Talesin passed his command on to sir Galahad as their numbers dwindled, and then poor Galahad on to no one after Gares killed him, leaving them with no one to rally around."

"Murdering _pes'shyk"_, Tsuno bit out behind them. "You were right to call us here, father." If the priest was surprised to hear such passion from a mage, he did not show it.

"The Black Knight has sought for many months to remove the Order of Roshian from the world, subsume it into the Zeteginean religion of the war Goddess Freya", Zalas noted sorrowfully. "Either through killing, or converting all worshippers of the Twenty-Two, and I'm sorry to say that he prefers the former method. His allies, though not a well-organized group, are equally despicable. Raven clanners, enslaved fey, merfolk of course, heretical mages, the undead, valkyries and even dragons. They're a wide spread of types, with no uniform tactics."

_Just like us_, Destin couldn't help but note. Just like the rebel army, Gares' followers had joined him on the strength and fame of his name alone. Every mercenary knew that an army with the last of the Black Knights leading it would not be losing many battles, and the Highland prince had a bottomless war chest to draw upon. "Fairies too, hn? Pretty savvy analysis for a holy man."

Zalas smiled for the first time, his dark green eyes shut. "We were not prepared for this endeavour, lord Destin. Over time, we of the convocation were forced to become more focused on staying alive and helping others than preaching the Word of the Twenty-Two or Prince Roshian or you. Had we not spared the resources to train our paladins and study Imperial troop movements on the isle, we would have been killed long ago. Though I would never think to shame the Grand Monk's memory, that woman always assumed the best of people, and that, I think, was her undoing. It was treachery which caused her to be caught."

Destin nodded soberly, allowing the new head of the Order to lead them into a dining hall with an oak table. Something about Zalas spoke of a practicality not often observed by Roshian priests, and it would not surprise him to see him treating the convocation more as a splinter rebel group of its own than a religious order. It was all the same to the Empire, it seemed.

"You simply _must_ find a way to defeat the Black Knight Gares", Zalas proclaimed once they'd been seated. "Defeat him, and I am positive the rest shall leave Avalon. He is their nexus, the core of their power."

_The Alpha Male_, Destin echoed mentally, feeling a sense of dread. Rumours placed Gares Endora's strength anywhere from equalling an Imperial Deva to surpassing one, and even the best healers in the Order could not bring back his full strength in time for the fight. His legs yet ached where Debonair had cut them, making him grind his teeth to avoid screaming every time they bent. The knuckles he'd punched Debonair with threatened to scar themselves anew as he flexed them.

If he duelled the Black Knight straight-up like this, he would die, plain and simple. Nor could he expect anyone else in the rebel army to have a chance. This was going to be a bloodbath, a struggle to wear a much greater enemy down with numbers in the hope that not many of them would be lost.

"And what of our payment?", he cut in on Zalas' pontification. "Don't get me wrong, I know perfectly well that it is performing a service to this world to kill Gares Endora, but us travelling all the way out here leaves Zenobia mostly unprotected. If the Empire tried a naval invasion while we were gone..."

The head priest looked stymied for a few breaths, then looked out at the rising plumes of soot from the volcanoes. "I would consider it to be repayment, sir Destin, for all the times our Order has healed or sheltered your people in times of need."

"Not enough", Destin maintained. "My people are going to _die_ for this, Father. I would require something that would compensate for their loss."

"Then you shall have it", Zalas said flatly. "When Gares is slain, I shall bequeath you the coordinates to another one of our hidden Temples. One which we have used to store a mighty weapon fit only for a true hero of the Gods."

Part of the rebel leader wanted to protest, to claim that no weapon was an equivalent exchange for his people's lives, but he could tell by the steel in the man's words that this, along with the complete support and funding of the church, was the best they were going to get. "Very well. I believe Gares has made his base in the Castle Amad?"

"He has", the priest confirmed. "The ancient stronghold, built by the dragonkin who once ruled this island. Since Forris' death he has returned there often, and I have little doubt he will be waiting for you there now."

Looking around the table, he nodded to each of his group's chiefs in turn. Fubuki. Tsuno. Yenda. "Then it is there where he shall meet his end. What we have assembled here is only one-third of our forces. I must dispatch runners to inform the others of the situation- coordination will be essential."

"We shall leave you to that", Zalas concurred. "I must attend to my own wounded as well- I shall be in the healing wing if you require anything of me."

"Appreciated", Destin called after him before he'd closed the door. Relaxed downward onto the table. "So. Any ideas? Fubuki? Tsuno? Yenda?"

"What I said before still stands", the wizard offered once they'd realized what he was asking. "My spells cannot defeat the Black Knight openly, but here is the only place when my magic might be able to actually hurt him."

"If it is my lord's wish, I shall lead the charge", the masked samurai said, sounding uncharacteristically enthusiastic from within his armour. "Never wanted to live forever anyway."

"I'm sorry about your friend", Yenda said emphatically, despite surely having dealt with hundreds of terminal cases before Liat. "We did all we could, but the Deva's Blade technique-"

"It's fine. He wasn't my friend."

Destin permitted himself a small chuckle. _Same old Fubu. Perhaps he isn't being as sarcastic as we think when he says he doesn't want to live forever. Not that he'd ever admit it- too stubborn. _

"Something funny, kid?"

"No. Just that I had a different role in mind for you, Fubuki. We know from the Order that Gares rides a Black Dragon when travelling. I'd like for you to take it out of action when we arrive at Amad, if you can. As well as one more thing..."

The easterling warrior remained impassive. A fully-grown Black Dragon_ was_ certainly a challenge worthy of his skills, and he had to be eager to make up for how Kaus Debonair had humiliated him at Zenobia. "Which is?"

Destin drew Kalanbolg, clattering it onto the table for all to see the ten kill notches he'd made near the hilt. "I want to learn to use an Iainuki. We can start whenever you want. I'm willing to set aside three hours each night, which I believe is when you usually practice. We'll go as long as it takes for me to get it right."

As he'd expected, Fubu seemed insulted by the request. As though one could handpick one of the many techniques of the samurai Order for themselves without even joining it or learning any of the intricacies. Anyone else would have spat on him, but this one did not turn him down at least. "You won't be able to learn it in time for Gares. You're still too injured to fight him yourself."

"Someone else already asked me to let them do it", he confessed. "They get the first shot. If they fail... well there's a reason I'm having us strike at night."

"Sir Neralai", Tsuno nodded gleefully, rubbing his hands together. "Even the Black Knight will find him a handful, I should think."

"All the same, I expect you and Yenda to contribute", Destin maintained, reclaiming Kalanbolg. "If the rumours are halfway truth, no one among us here can defeat the Black Knight on their own. Not even me. We cannot let pride blind- HUH?"

The four turned as one to the noise. Standing in the hallway was sir Ordas, though not alone. A short figure in pink priests' robes stood behind him, holding both his arms pinned and pressing a dagger to the young knight's neck. "S-sorry sir!", Harrison managed to grit out without endangering his flesh. "She grabbed me, and-"

"Enough, kid", Fubu snarled, drawing his own remade weapon as he rose from the chair. "You're not worth saving."

"Stand down, _shai-raa_", Destin reprimanded, looking closer to see that the girl who was holding his second hostage was indeed female. Female, and either young or a dwarf for her height. "Why have you come here?"

"I had to find you", the girl replied over Harrison's noises of protest. Her freckles and long teal ponytail suggested she had to try hard to make her face look anything close to fierce. "I heard you were here, but you wouldn't be staying for long. Then I saw_ this _idiot eavesdropping on you!"

"Hey!", the knight protested. "I'm not an idiot!"

"Harrison, shut UP. To what end, girl?"

"Take me with you", she demanded, poking her face out from behind sir Ordas. "I am Aisha, daughter of the Grand Monk Forris. I must avenge my mother. I _must_ kill Gares!"

Tsuno gave her a mocking laugh, and the young priestess tightened her dagger in response. "My dear child", Yenda tried in a more compassionate tone, looking her straight in the face as her lord always did. "You know we are always willing to accept new members, but I highly doubt the Order would approve. You're far too young. You can't possibly be past acolyte rank yet. Even if you possessed the abilities of a cleric, our powers are meant to heal, not hurt. That is our oath. You cannot kill the Black Knight by healing him."

Then, to the combined shock of all five, Aisha twitched the dagger and let Harrison fall to the floor without another word. Blood gushed freely from his throat, and Destin grabbed the girl by the arm before freezing up.

_Can't do it. Can't kill a child? Even in self-defence? Even after she killed a friend? _"Yenda", he managed through his funk. "Please heal him."

But Yenda did not move, at least not right away. She pointed towards Harrison's body, where Aisha had knelt down next to him. Behind the door, they noticed a pair of Roshian paladins approaching at a fast clip. Destin felt his arm unwind by one knot. _Finally, our hosts take notice of an attempted murder. About time._

A chorus of singsong words issued from her throat, lending a familiar glow to Aisha's long ankh as she tapped it against the knight's neck. As the flesh began to knit itself back together, the paladins did not grab the girl, but instead stood guard to ensure no one interfered with the procedure. Unable to resist anyway, the other rebels stood transfixed until sir Ordas' wound was gone, the blood evaporated into golden fluff.

"I possess Shaman-Level healing skill", Aisha announced as she stood up. "Take me with you, and I'll be your best healer, I promise you." Upon realizing that Destin was staring at the two paladins by her side in confusion, she smiled knowingly. "This is sir Mildain, and sir Guildus. They're my friends. Take me, and they too, will fight for you."

"Spoken for, are they?", Yenda said, finding her voice again after being so impressed by the sight of Aisha's powers. "I thought Paladins- particularly Roshian Paladins- made it a point of honour to stand by the decisions of their authority. You can't tell me that Father Zalas endorses this behaviour, child."

"Zal-Ass can do what he wants", Aisha said flatly. "I _will _avenge my mother, no matter what he says. We were to leave tonight, but we'd prefer your assistance."

Fubuki looked at Destin, scarcely believing that such insolence could exist in the Order of Roshian. Two Paladins and a Shaman versus the Black Knight? A bad joke. "Unless of course, we were to tip him off that you were sneaking out, girl."

In a flash, the knife was back at Ordas' throat. "You won't do that. Will you?"

Fubuki stood, but Yenda waved him back down. "I'm afraid I must call your bluff, child. As a member of the Order, you are sworn never to kill."

"First time for everything", she replied, tightening her grip a notch so that the man spasmed. "If I followed that ruling, I wouldn't be able to kill Gares. Someone has to."

"Someone will", Destin said, searching for doubt in the two Paladin's faces and finding little. "But it shall not be you, girl. Not when your rational mind is clouded with the desire for revenge." Turning, he addressed his division leaders. "Come. I sense we're no longer welcome here."

None of them protested or dallied overlong, making the effect that much more devastating to Aisha when they began to pack up and leave the room. "You can't leave!", she protested to Destin's back. "I'll kill this man! I'll kill him! I'm serious!"

"Go ahead", the rebel leader shot back. "He's dead weight anyway."

"Don't think I won't do it!" Then, after a weighty silence, "Bah! You're heartless!"

Unable to keep himself from scoffing, Destin turned, again looking at the Paladins while talking to Aisha. "_I'm_ heartless? Look who's threatening to cut a man who's done you no wrong open with a knife."

But Aisha was no longer holding the knife to the knight's neck. She was standing closer to Destin, both tearful and furious. "You _are_ heartless. You don't know what it's like, to lose people you love! I...If you did, you would let me come with you!"

He might have gaped, but the girl's grief seemed to fill the room, stifling further discourse. He could already tell she had no skill for deception- this must have been genuine. It was true, or at least part of it. Deneb was the only one he could remember that truly touched his heart, and that was not family, but passion and empathy. Imagining such a capable woman dying before him was not easy, yet still it made his insides quake. _Deneb... How I wish I could be in your arms now._ He sighed, trusting himself not to see the witch in this priestess. "You'll be in my division, where I can keep a close eye on you."

Brightening, she brushed the tears away. "Th-thank you."

"And you will _not _kill Gares, girl. You'll only witness his demise."

She gave a weak chuckle, gesturing for Mildain and Guildius to help Harrison up. "Even I'm not crazy enough to think I can take him on with _this_", she said, brandishing her ankh like a large sword. "Seeing him die is vengeance enough for me."

"Good", Destin agreed. Inwardly though, he winced. First Deneb, now this. _Damn it._ _Still so weak around the crying ladies. Have to get that fixed at some point. It's a weakness that a clever foe might use against you._

And so it was that the rebels departed the hidden temple and approached the island's range of volcanoes three people larger, crossing deadly lava floes and slaying wild Red dragons before reaching the rendezvous in Tomayang.

* * *

"FIGHT IT OUT!"

The siege of Fort Amad began in the darkest hour of night, the time when no stars hung in the sky to illuminate it. Instead, the rebels made do with alternate methods after regrouping in the woods outside the city of Tomayang as planned, which Gares had thankfully left untouched. Clerics lit their ankhs with whispered prayers to guide the way, and division leaders help up simple torches crafted in those very woods to better organize the charge. Everyone kept on the watch for the Black Knight, but instead it was a hodgepodge battle line of Gares' followers that awaited them once they had marched down the trail towards the fortress.

The enemy was not as numerous or professional as Debonair's forces had been, but their diverse talents and strengths were not something to take lightly either, as they proved once an enemy mage dropped lethal forks of lightning down on them from a griffin mount. It became even worse once the enemy revealed their secret weapon- a sect of clerics who had sworn fealty to Gares, and wreaked havoc on the rebel's own undead warriors before being eaten by Ruclomb and Pheles under Lyon's command.

So the division leaders had eventually pulled back into a more organized formation, capable of rotating fresh fighters in to combat new threats as they emerged from the darkness or the north bay, so long as a flying division such as the Wind Rider's could spot them in time. The advance was momentarily stalled when a group of skeletons suddenly swarmed from the fortress' massive main gate, but with Canopus and Yulia watching their backs the rebels could not be caught off guard, and before long Sara, Yenda, Aisha, and her two paladins Mildain and Guildus had banished the undead completely.

Castle Amad seemed impossibly huge even before the rebels set foot in it, and it did not take long for Destin to figure out why. "It was built by dragons, for dragons", he remembered father Zalas' words. "So the hallways are all ridiculously wide and tall, three times the width of a human construction."

"Perfect for us", Ashe noted with reservation. "It's the only castle in the world where the grand hall is large enough to make a battle line _indoors_. We could bring our dragons in here too. I trust we're sticking to the plan, m'lord?"

"Don't see why not", Destin shrugged. "You and Lans may go first, with Tsuno and Aisha's groups on support. If you feel yourself becoming tired, don't hesitate to back out."

On cue, sir Tomas Neralai gave a resounding snarl from his own division under Gilbert. "Let them come. I'm getting hungry."

"Savage", he couldn't help but overhear Ashe whisper, and the sentiment was echoed by many of the armies' humans. Too late for a scolding now- Gares Endora was waiting for them atop the huge red-carpeted throne which had once seated an adult dragon. With any other human it would have made a ridiculous spectacle, like a baby seated in a chair for grownups, but the Black Knight was big enough with his dark armour that the sculpting only looked one size too large for him. A half-dozen Raven clanners huddled at the base of it, along with five despondent valkyries and three traitorous clerics. The last remnants of Gares' hangers-on.

The Black Knight moved a steel-clad right hand up to the axe as the rebels approached, slowly, deliberately moving it up into position until they could see for themselves just how huge and heavy the weapon was. "You're the ones who defeated Debonair then, eh?", he observed, no accent discernible through a distortion that made every brutish word sound like it had escaped from a haunted cave made of metal. "Can't see that. Either way, you were fools to come here. Don't you know who I am?"

"Highland Prince Gares Endora", Aisha recited, fighting to keep her voice from cracking at the sight of the man she loathed. "The Black Knight, and heir to the Empire. The butcher of Zenobia. Slayer of Grand Monk Forris. _Murderer of my mother_."

Gares stood, seeming to be looking directly at Destin behind his tomb of black steel. "Heh. Which one? I've killed so many it's hard to remember, girl. Did you come to us for a kiss, sweetums?"

"Gods curse you to Hel!", she screamed back, her serenity fled. "I'll tell you where you can stick your kiss you twisted-"

"That will be enough, lady Aisha", Destin cut her off before she could rush the Black Knight all by herself in anger. "At any rate, we of the rebellion are here to end your reign of terror, Gares. Look around our ranks, and I am sure you will spot some familiar faces who have waited many years to exact their vengeance upon you."

"Hello, prince", Ashe said, stepping forward with his blade drawn. Lans did likewise without the words, but Gares just laughed at him, making several of the rebellion's younger members flinch back from the sound of it.

"Well, how about that. If it isn't Captain Ashe, back from the dead. S'matter, old-timer, the worms weren't good company? And over here we have Lancelot Hamilton, our personal favourite thorn-in-the-side."

"T'is Lans", he corrected Gares flatly, drawing his own weapon to cover Ashe. "Not that it matters where we shall send thee, demon."

"You... you kill me?", the Black Knight snickered, beginning to direct his remaining followers towards divisions besides the front Ashe and Lans had presented. "That's_ rich_. Did Debonair teach you nothing? This is the big leagues. I have within me the strength of the legendary Ogres! You're nothing but little boys who've stumbled into a game for adults. You're not _equipped_ to handle this, and whatever idiot sent you out here must want you all to die."

It was then that the rebels were united in feeling an invisible pressure slip down upon, subtle at first but the contrast gradually becoming so alarming that many of them, not merely the young ones, took several steps back from the Black Knight. Anything to escape this impossible feeling which had suddenly struck them, worthlessness and despair and loathing all bundled into a single ocean's wave.

"General Kaus Debonair", Destin retorted smoothly, not letting the dark aura impair his speech, "implied much the same things, the day before he was forced to retreat from Zenobia, howling like a woman."

"He _is_ a woman", Gares chortled. "His mother just never got around to telling him. Never send some sparkly-haired pretty boy to do a real man's job, you get what I'm saying? But enough yammering! TENEBRAE! VILORIUS! KILL!"

A second's confusion at the mention of two names cost Destin, as everyone in the hall seemed to burst into action at once. Tsuno led his group into the summoning of a familiar sheet of fire. A dozen lesser-known rebels charged Gares' survivors. Clerics began to pair off with the individual groups, only staying clear of Ashe and Lans as they screamed and charged the Black Knight as one. The Black Knight, who now brandished his huge axe and let the wind of his speed lift his scarlet red cape as he attacked.

_Two_ Black Dragons, one from each of the side halls, unleashing blasts of yellow acid breath the size of houses. Fubuki ran forward with Reldin and Guildius to attack the creature on the left. Destin directed his own division against the one on the right once he'd regained his bearings, though continuing to keep an eye on the main event even as he blunted the second breath attack and felt it wash over him and those around him.

The opening salvos seemed encouraging. Though it was true no guard could keep the Black Knight's axe at bay for long, the two comrades operated with such synchronicity that it seemed as though Gares faced one foe instead of two. A swing at Lans' head was parried by Ashe's shield. A follow-up that cracked that shield was intercepted by Lans' blade, and both the old soldiers knew to jump every time the man swung low and wide. They had not get gotten within reach, but their steadfast avoidance and the occasional distance hit was clearly aggravating him.

"ENOUGH!", Gares called, leaping up to nearly his own height with his axe slashing upwards. "Back to Hel with you!"

Too late, they saw the sickly-yellow ring etching itself into the ground beneath Sister Yenda's feet. The death scream of multiple clerics overlapped into a chilling noise, and here and there a rebel would freeze at the sound. For Reldin, it was a fatal distraction, allowing his dragon to cover nearly his entire body with acid.

"Ya like it?", the Highland prince crowed, calmly taking a blast of lightning from Tsuno on his axe handle before using it to bash Lans in the face. "That's the power of my _Evil Ring_ spell!"

"Back, Lans!", Destin shouted over the sound of his own dragon screeching in pain. "Get back! Tomas, go!"

Neither of the knights had been critically injured but he knew he was right to call the retreat- both men had lost their shields and cracks lined several parts of their armour, and they hadn't landed anything more than a glancing blow on their foe Instead, the werewolf shot forward from the battle line, accompanied by the worgen Ruclomb and Pheles, sheer speed and ferocity hopefully compensating for a lack of protection. Nonetheless, Gares did not seem stressed when he slid away from a blast of fire from Pheles, greeting Tomas Neralai with a rising swing in midair. "Pitiful! You send your dogs to fight me now?"

A blizzard quieted him, and Destin forced his attention back to helping Lyon and Harrison finish off his dragon. The creature did seem to be in its prime and trained to kill humans en masse with its acidic breath, but even a creature such as this could only put up with being slashed and blasted and pummelled so many times in its weak spots, even if it killed a rebel for every major injury it received. Behind them, he felt the surviving clerics rallying under Aisha, attempting now to heal anyone else whom Gares had hurt so far. He did not see Yenda among them, and glanced back at the pile of dead women Gares' spell had made with a paralysing regret.

That same spell had just been activated again, this time targeting Tsuno's group of wizards. They were better prepared, scattering in all directions when the saw the thing appearing beneath them, it marked the end of their spell barrages for a while, and two of the wizard's people were caught in it anyway. Neither one was moving. "Damn you... Wave Three!"

He was gladdened to see most of his people weren't allowing the sight of their comrades' deaths to slow them much, nor the continued pressure of Gares' aura. All the warriors directly in front of Gares, including sir Neralai, fell away from the Black Knight upon hearing the order. From the back of their formation, Lyon's two green dragons had combined their breath weapon into a single blazing-red beam of destruction that sped along the channel they'd made before taking Gares full-on in the chest and helmet.

"Not bad", the killing machine commented once the smoke cloud had cleared, revealing armour blackened with soot and cracked along the plates, but not yet breached. He did not even acknowledge seeing the dragon Tenebrae die off to his right along with the valkyries being killed by Gilbert and Aisha's efforts. "But if that's all you've got, then this was over before it started. What's wrong, kid? Scared to face me yourself?"

"He does not need to, prince", Ashe intruded on the man's taunting, baring his broad sword threateningly despite the crippling damage he'd taken. "A worm such as you is beneath sir Destin's talents, and he thought he'd give you a fair chance."

"Uh-oh!", Gares mocked, unleashing the Evil Ring spell against the rebellion's dragons even as he spoke and dodged arrow and spell. "Sounds like someone forgot their medicine! Come here, old man. We'll see if we can't knock some reality into your skull- before I crush it like a grape!"

Against a burning sensation on his leg where the black dragon had struck him, Destin raised a hand to stop him even as he knew the warning to be too late. Talos charged from the line, joining Ashe for another brief two-on-one, but the Black Knight now seemed faster than he'd been from the start, beheading the golem in less than a minute and destroying the remains with Evil Ring, beyond all possible recovery by the look of it. "Shouldn't have come here", he continued to admonish Destin from afar as he kicked Ashe away, ripped into him with the haft of his weapon as they passed. "_You made the biggest mistake of your life, kid!_"

Time stopped. He was back at the house of Faroda, reliving the same waking memories that had left him so terrified before. Thousands of people, fleeing in fear. Burning buildings all around. Armies advancing as one, killing everything in their path, singing as they slew. Those same words... that same caustic voice promising plenty of harm to come and enjoying every second of the young recipient's dread. It was the voice of his childhood nightmares, brought to life before him now...

_You just made the biggest mistake of your life, kid._

_What did the prince- urgh! Never mind._

_Seek out the prince... the prince..._

The other rebels, their cries of surprise and repeated injury as they engaged the last of Gares' forces, no longer existed for him in that moment. There were only two people in Castle Amad that he could see. Himself. The Black Knight. The tormentor, and the tormented.

A howl worthy of Tomas Neralai left his throat. He sprang, feeling as if he was somehow flying_ towards_ that loathsome black armor, descending so fast that his own red clanged into it. This close in, the massive axe weapon was at a disadvantage next to Kalanbolg, which he lashed out against the burned faceplate again and again, bowling the prince over with sheer energy until it was the only thing left in his mind.

The rest of his functions, it seemed, had found their own autopilots. "It's YOU!", he felt himself screaming at the top of his lungs, punctuating every slash. "It's you! It's you! YOU! You! You! You-you-youyouyou!"

Something moved beneath the visor and Destin knew Gares was saying words, but they didn't register in his ears. Nothing did anymore. Was he bleeding? Was the battle continuing? There was a rushing sensation eating them all up, the same noises and words from twenty-five years ago played in his head over and over again until he believed himself to be mad.

There was only one way to make the voices stop, he understood. To kill the Black Knight pinned beneath him. A huge gauntlet suddenly snapped up and grabbed the rebel by the leg before throwing him down _hard_ into the castle's brick floor, breaking it into fragments. Looking up, he could see the damage he'd inflicted up close, all humour or confidence leeched from the withered face he had exposed by carving off the helmet with his blade.

"It's YOU", the visage from his nightmares repeated, confused now. Possibly a little frightened? "What... how? Why you? You... you created me!"

"And you", Destin replied breathily, "created _me_." It was true. He felt it was true. Somehow could see it all now. Every bit of pain that had washed away his cognition for unthinking rage, every bit of trauma he was reliving, it all was caused by the Black Knight that stood before him now. "Now I shall unmake you. _Phantom!"_

The golden-tinged ghost-face did not seem as large or powerful as the one that had attacked Rashidi, but it was yet terrifying enough to make everyone in the hall back away from it, and powerful enough to force Gares to frantically block it or risk death. Even the Highland prince had a soul, however maimed and diminished, and the three gaping holes that made up the ghost-face hungered for it. The thing seemed to devour Gares whole, though when it faded the man was winded but _still breathing._

"Th-that...", Gares whispered. "How did you...?"

Out of nowhere, a blast of fire brought both men back to their senses, again aware of the huge battle raging around them even if many people on both sides had stopped to watch the huge ghost-face eat Gares. Forcing Destin to back off the dais with one more Evil Ring, he dragged his axe across the floor as a follow-up, releasing an orange-black shockwave that gave him even more room. Leaping backwards, he crashed through the stone wall at the back and out into the tall riverbed behind it, falling down the cliff with his red cape trailing behind him. From the flurry of activity he could see down there, the mermaids had already prepared a means of evacuating the prince to safety.

Destin ran to the new hole in the wall, gazing down at the man with pure hatred until Ashe pulled him away from it. "We can't catch him now, lad", he reprimanded. "Point is, we won. Isle Avalon is ours, and I doubt he'll return."

"Prince", he couldn't help but whimper, a wild look in his eyes that made Ashe recoil. "Seek out the _prince._ I didn't know... the Highland prince... My..."

He could no longer stand it. The memories of torture were too freshly unveiled. Dropping Kalanbolg, he fell lifeless into the old captain's arms. He did not cry. He could not afford to. Not this time.

* * *

"You look horrible", Ashe observed upon joining Lans in Tomayang's commons area. With Amad in ruins, none of the functional division leaders had wanted to recuperate there, instead opting to travel back to the closest city before beginning what would not be a long sleep.

"Oh dear." Lifting a helmet that felt like it had been on forever, Lans forced himself not to tremble. "Truly?"

"Worse than I did when you found me", the captain insisted.

The younger knight stared out across the spread of resting warriors, taking note of the way Aisha Forris had naturally assumed the role of chief healer in Yenda's place. "I can only imagine why that would be. Feeling Gares' presence press down upon me? Seeing him slay Sister Yenda and get away clean? Or seeing my sworn brother break down after conjuring _expert-level sorcery_? Take your pick, captain."

"Not exactly clean", his friend pointed out. "Both his dragons dead, his helmet scarred." He raised the aforementioned piece of black metal atop a wooden rail, still imposing but devoid of the pure malice that had once lurked behind it. "I'm thinking of keeping this thing as a trophy. A reminder that he is not invincible. Alas, poor Talos. I knew him, Lans. He was our protector as well as jailer at By'Roit."

"It was... difficult", Lans found the courage to admit. So many dead with no definitive result. "Ashe. I'm a grown man. The others shall tell you that I boast, sometimes. I like to believe I'm a brave man. I've lived and fought forty years as a stalwart knight of Zenobia, and the prince's aura_ still_ knocked me flat. Nearly saw me break and run like a frightened child. It seems... unreal."

"Some kind of advanced dark magic", Ashe spoke of the invisible pressure which had washed equally over everyone who fought Gares directly. Even the old captain, who had encountered the Highland Prince many times growing up, had found it difficult to move and fight at full strength, and so he worked to assure his friend that being scared of him was nothing to be ashamed of. "Likely a secret kept by the Order of the Black Knights... and possibly Sage Rashidi, who first introduced Gares Endora to the way of the Dark."

"A secret involving sir Destin, somehow", Lans finished, glancing with pity back at the cot which held their young leader, still plagued as he was by wicked-looking seizures after having fallen into unconciousness. It did not seem as bad as after he'd gotten through the Pogrom Forest, but still unnerving for him to watch. "Any ideas what all that was about? Gares seemed to know him."

"Some", Ashe confessed. "I never finished telling you about the most common trial of the Black Knights, the means by which they are able to destroy their own conscience." Taking a moment to ensure they were not being overheard by the younger rebels, he dropped the Black Knight's deformed helmet off the banister and was rewarded with a cry of pain and surprise from Harrison. "Knights of Zenobia should not sneak around eavesdropping on their superiors, master Ordas", he commented before pulling a misstepped Lans back to another room.

"Master?"

"He_ is_ of noble lineage", Ashe reminded him, glancing at the boy as he fled. "The Ordas bloodline was famous for its loyal retainers. In fact, by Gran's own word the Ordas were the ones most responsible for exterminating the Black Knight's Order centuries ago- in Zenobia anyway. Lodis still has some. Were that boy just five summers older... and about fifteen more mature... I might have advocated _him_ to take the throne."

"You might", Lans said, taking a seat further away from the group. "Had we not gotten a fix on a living heir of Gran, not just a noble line." Seeing shock on the captain's face, he waved it away with a knowing grin. "Sir Destin has not shared that information with everyone just yet, but I don't yet wish to lose the trail of this journey. What exactly _was _the Black Knight's trial?"

Ashe's face paled, suddenly bleak and devoid of merriment with the curse of knowledge more ancient than himself. "Torture", he expressed simply. "No, not of oneself. They're not masochists. The cold-blooded torture of an innocent child, by one's own hand. A session every day, until the candidate is able to not only do it without flinching, but _enjoy_ doing so. At that point, the child will be killed by ritual."

Feeling his stomach drop away, Lans found himself mirroring his friend. "Barbaric! To inflict such pain on a child... Now more than ever, I wish I had stayed conscious long enough to finish that _kree-ath _myself_._ His crimes grow more vile the more I hear about his past. And you believe that sir Destin was the one chosen to be Gares' unfortunate victim?"

"It fits", Ashe suggested. "Does it not? Sage Warren told me of how you located that boy in a reeking dungeon in the southernmost reaches of Zenobia, directed near Lake Janneia by his Tarot readings to find 'Destiny's Child'. It is only natural that prince Gares did not wish to perform such indecent acts in public, and he stayed behind in Zenobia to forcibly quell peasant uprisings for many years after Gran's death."

"Then their fates truly _are _intertwined", Lans finished in genuine awe. "They share a connection! Just as Warren's readings indicated all those years ago. A bizarre twist indeed, that the boy chosen to help create our greatest enemy is now our saviour."

Ashe frowned, glancing back at the sleeping body of their leader. "He must have been there several years, at least. How is it that he was able to function as a human being after such hardship, never mind lead us as far as he has? I've seen many recipients of Imperial-grade torture during my internment, lad. I've no reason to suspect that Gares Endora would be any gentler than they. After several years of repeated application, the victim's body simply wilts under the agony. Their bones crumble and break, their blood dries out, and their minds can no longer tell the difference between pain and the lack of it. They become insane. One so traumatized at an early age would not have been able to speak any words, or even stand up properly."

"Oh, no", Lans shuddered and dropped his sword in shock, remembering back to the early years when he'd first met the boy he would come to call his sworn brother. "I am a fool. _That_ is why Warren Moon refused to travel with us to Avalon. He must have weaved a spell upon the boy shortly after Bors and I rescued him, blocking his memories of the torture. Particular kinds of spices, combined with a ritual of _Fauture, _the sacrifice of a goat's child... But when I first learned he could do such a thing, he admitted that such enchantments cannot last forever. Seeing his old tormentor again would certainly have jostled it, reopened old wounds... And let sir Destin know who it was who had blocked his memory to begin with."

Ashe nodded back, wizened but still disturbed by the conspiracy they'd stumbled upon. "It all fits, more's the pity. That is why the boy possesses such an unnaturally high tolerance for pain whenever he's in battle. He can take severe injures without flinching... because his muscles have experienced far worse agonies in his childhood. He just doesn't know it yet."

"He _didn't _know it", Lans corrected him, alternately hoping for and dreading the moment when Destin Faroda would awaken from his deep slumber a new man, the darkest years of his life forgotten to him suddenly as fresh and stark in his mind as a Highland breeze. There was no way of knowing for sure what the results would be. "He remembers it all now. Gods help us."

* * *

A/N: Alright, starting the second half now. Hopefully should be able to keep a biweekly update schedule, but no promises. Got one request for Rauny to play a more active role, and that will be honored. Hoping to get more reviews soon.


	14. Legends

**Legends**

* * *

**Tarot XII - Hanged Man**

_The Fool settles beneath a tree, intent on finding his spiritual self. There he remains for nine days, without eating, barely moving. People pass by him, animals, clouds, the wind, the rain, the stars, sun and moon. On the ninth day, with no conscious thought of why, he climbs a branch and dangles upside down like a child, giving up for a moment, all that he is, wants, knows or cares about. Coins fall from his pockets and as he gazes down on them - seeing them not as money but only as round bits of metal - everything suddenly changes perspective. It is as if he's hanging between the mundane world and the spiritual world, able to see both. It is a dazzling moment, dreamlike yet crystal clear. Connections he never understood before are made, mysteries are revealed. _

_But timeless as this moment of clarity seems, he realizes that it will not last. Very soon, he must right himself, and when he does, things will be different. He will have to act on what he's learned. For now, however, he just hangs, weightless as if underwater, observing, absorbing, seeing the truth._

* * *

The holiday morning of that year was a glorious one. All of Xanadu was decorated with snow lilies, and its people rejoiced at the return of their loved ones to them, however temporary. The streets thronged with men and women out of their armor going to the shrines to pray to the Goddess Freya, or meet with old friends even more removed. No storm obscured the festivities, and the entire city seemed languished beneath a beatific cast of white.

Empress Endora had taken great precautions, including the risk of a healing salve from a Roshian priest, to ensure that the duties she had to perform on this special event would reach outside of the castle's halls and taint the mood of her people. For them, if no one else, she had to be strong. She had to present to them a picture of perfect mental health, no matter how many times her son and husband and sister whispered nonsense into her ears, begging to be set free. She waited patiently on the throne hearing out Wlenca's report, then Rhea's, before standing to address the rest of her commanders present.

"All legions are now accounted for", Captain Rhea Luvalon finished, the breastplate of the red-gold armour that now designated her as a Muse shining in the morning light beneath her dark-skinned face. "Our forces are now set up to repel any invasion along the eastern coast, each major area of Denueve and Malano occupied by a full legion. Even given the most generous estimates of rebel strength, we will vastly outnumber them wherever they choose to strike."

"And no matter where they go", Wlenca seconded confidently in an effort to cheer her Empress up. "They will still have to deal with our merfolk allies before reaching the coast from Zenobia. Queen Porkyus has contacted us with assurances that her people will do everything they can to defeat them. No, I believe our main concern for now is keeping our forces provisioned after the recent insect plague affecting Malano's harvest." Stepping down, captain Rhea couldn't miss the small nod of respect from her father, Tanaburs, along the line of Deva.

The line of Deva that was missing one member. Supreme Overlord Hikash now occupied the empty slot. Only three of the Empire's highest elites now awaited the Empress' commands, and that fact showed in different ways on each of them. Most visibly on the _Zwei_ Deva, general Rowdain Figaro, the one closest in appearance to their missing man. The tan-haired fighter appeared even more restless than usual, and it was he who had most enthusiastically volunteered to take command of the Empire's eastern theater of battle.

"I concur, your majesty", Figaro commented once the two valkyrie women had returned to a line of ten muses off to one side, all standing at attention. "If there's any way to compensate for the shortages, we would be wise to use it. Leave the rebellion to me. I'll swear upon Freya I'll tear those mongrels to ribbons. If they survive at all, they'll run screaming back to their shit-hole in Zenobia where they'll spend the next five years licking their wounds and dreaming of the day they shall be strong enough to challenge us again."

Everyone had come to expect such fiery passion from Figaro by now- it had been the hallmark of his father back when he had been the 2nd Deva. Both Figaros liked to smile fierce and confident, both father and son loved having a good fight for its own sake. Deva-General Cale Previa, however, coughed politely in counterpoint. Unlike Figaro or Debonair, he was not well-liked at all by his peers. "You and what army, Rowdain? They killed Kaus, what makes you think you'll do any better? You're not much stronger than he, if at all."

Figaro glowered but did not rise to the bait with violence. "The 11th legion, brother Cale. _My_ legion, handpicked by me from the very best of the best in the Empire." He nodded at three of the identically-garbed _Einherjar _muses, all of whom belonged to the 11th and knew him personally. "Though I do confess, I find it difficult to believe that Debonair could ever lose to low-level trash like that. If he'd used his _Niebelung_, there's no way... At any rate, they must have some trick up their sleeves we're not yet aware of. I shall take every precaution against them, Empress."

"Schlict welpe strig-" Rashidi Light began at Endora's side before bowing and correcting himself with a cough as he switched back to Zeteginean standard. "Apologies, your majesty. I have been spending too much time among Zenobian vassals as of late. What I meant to say was, they shall strike, but not where we think. Even the most idealistic, the most deluded of the rebels must be aware of the vast armies we've pitted against them now, and the disparity between our numbers. They control hundreds; we control thousands."

Endora palmed her chin and watched the Sage curiously. "Go on."

"Thinking as they do -as they must- what the rebellion needs to gain most is manpower. Experienced manpower, capable of standing up to our storied veterans. What, I ask, is the most available source of people who despise our Empire?"

Endora rose and saw similar shock in the faces of several of her Deva. "Diaspola. The prison colony. Over five hundred disloyal prisoners. And it's right there, floating off the east coast of Malano. The ideal target!"

"Indeed", Rashidi supposed. "They shall strike Diaspola after crossing the Kastolatian sea. There are many loathsome scoundrels kept there, many of them with combat experience who would join any cause that enables them to take revenge upon our people. It also makes an excellent beachhead for an invasion of the rest of the continent."

"Then let the 11th Legion be their welcoming committee", Figaro demanded with barely-restrained glee. "Before the night is through we'll have a hundred new _haaswein_ to clap in leg irons. I'll meet this Destin lamb personally. I'll fight him, and I'll kill him."

"That's a relief", Previa called. "For a moment we thought you would kick him in the shins and run off."

This proved too much for Figaro. He angrily drew his blade, identical in every way to Debonair's, ready to brawl. "Hey! You want a taste of what I'll be giving the Chaos-Bringer?"

Endora was about to raise a hand to prevent a duel right there in the throne room, but the banging of the hall's oak doors did that for her as they were blown open as if by some blasting spell. Norn Dias strode forth into the hall wearing black silk robes of mourning that, combined with the look on her face, made her seem a great deal more threatening than usual. A mustachioed paladin guard had tried to stop her, but was unable to keep pace well enough to lunge out in front, and was hesitant to draw his weapon on a well-known friend of the Empire.

"Enough of your bickering", she said, uncharacteristically cold towards such powerful men. "It sickens Freya, and me."

"Lady Norn", Endora acknowledged, instantly forgiving the merchant princess' intrusion. Anyone could tell why she was here. "Though we all grieve for Kaus Debonair's loss, some of us show it in different ways. You cannot expect general Figaro to cry for him, least of all before his remaining peers."

"I understand", Norn agreed, many tears of her own staining her robes darker still as she nodded. "I overheard the situation, Empress. I wish to take command of the garrison at Diaspola. I will end the rebellion myself. No more innocents will die because of _them_."

"You?", Previa jeered, as callous towards her as he'd been towards Figaro. "You're not even officially part of the army, girl. Just what do you have that makes you believe you have a chance of victory?"

"Because", Norn said, leering at the 3rd Deva without fear. "I was born and raised in Diaspola. I know the region well, and many of the people there still call me friend. Every prisoner who chooses to fight alongside me instead of the rebels is a boon to us."

"Be that as it may, young lady", Hikash intruded calmly, palming his chin with a metal gauntlet the size of a hoof. "You possess no authority over the Imperial divisions already stationed there."

"But I do", she replied, kinder with the Supreme Overlord than towards Figaro or Previa. "Before departing to Zenobia, Kaus wrote a command directive and left I behind. He named me as his successor in the event that he... in case he could no longer lead his people. I know that I am not a warrior. I could not become the new 1st Deva or undergo the trials they have undergone, but I understand the intricacies of the battlefield. Kaus taught me much, Empress, and I will not let that go to waste."

"Listen to me, you rankless bi-"

"_Enough_, Figaro", Endora cut him off hastily. Beside her throne, Rashidi seemed merely amused by their argument. "Lady Norn. We understand your anguish, but the general has a point. If we yield command to you, and you are defeated, then the rebels will have secured a first-rate staging area for the rest of the Empire. Never again will we have the opportunity to land-lock our enemies like this- after Diaspola, it's a straight march to Fort Allamoot."

"I won't lose", Norn maintained, refusing to break eye contact. "I will defeat the rebellion as bloodlessly as possible, just as Kaus would have wanted. And I shall do so without the consent of this council, if it comes to that."

"Then go", Endora decreed before anyone could yell at her in umbrage. "Do your best, and come back alive. Captain Rhea shall accompany you. If any of the soldiers there refuse to obey, she shall correct them." Debonair's second-in-command did not miss a beat, marching over to accompany Norn on their journey. "Goddess be with you, Norn of Diaspola."

She only paused a moment, bowing and looking closer at Endora as if searching for something, oblivious to Figaro's murderous glare. "...I thank you for your candor, majesty. I shall not fail."

"Empress", Rashidi cautiously broke the ice seconds after the two had departed. "Though we all hope to see the rebellion fail against the mighty champions we've now sent against them- General Figaro, Lady Norn, Queen Porkyus, and even my own student Albeleo stationed in the Balmorra region- we can no longer afford to count on victory from _any_ of them. We have yet to hear word from your son at Avalon. You know that I had a hand in his training and if the rebels possess the strength to defeat the Black Knight, then I say that there _are_ no guarantees of victory. I wished to propose a morecertain way of dealing with the rebellion."

"You always do have your contingencies straight, Sage", Endora admired him with a sideways glance, pleased that the Sage of Light, at least, still treated her with all due respect, never mentioning her internal problems despite most certainly knowing of them. Who was more loyal to the cause than Rashidi? "Your services to us shall never be forgotten. What is it that you seek to propose?"

"A weapon, Empress. I believe my spies have now located a weapon capable of destroying not only the rebellion, but Lodis as well."

"Dragon-piss", Figaro called him out. "What sort of weapon could be so powerful? An unbeatable sword? Some kind of enchanted notebook we could write our enemies' names in to cause their deaths? Ridiculous."

"Not one weapon, but three.", Rashidi continued once he'd slammed Figaro into the marble floor again. "My request is a simple one, Empress. I ask that half of one Imperial legion not currently engaged with the enemy be placed under my command. I _do_ anticipate resistance, but I give you my solemn vow that I shall lead the charge, and exercise my full powers in order to minimize casualties. Those divisions shall be under my protection. We shall return with 3 legendary warriors capable of single-handedly winning this war when united."

Endora liked the way that her three Deva all froze at that claim, disguised as a dig at their competence when truly Rashidi could only be speaking of one thing. "You speak of the mythical Sky Knights. Slust the Red, Fenril of Ice, and Fogel the Cursed", she observed curtly. "You have reason to believe they not only existed, but still live?"

"The 3 Sky Knights are Half-Angels, Empress", Rashidi reminded her warily, finding it a rare and unusual chance to speak of a power beyond himself. "Extremely powerful ones. Though not Gods, they each possess a mortality of many centuries or longer, even greater than my own extended lifespan. My information indicates where each one of them has retired, and I have recently come into possession of the providence to open the gates to these hidden places where I believe they have hidden themselves. All I require is the manpower to take and hold them... and the authorization to search the lands under our control for the entrances."

Endora only considered it for a moment. It sounded like a fairy tale, but the Sage of Light had never been wrong in any of his schemes yet. "You shall have it then, Sage. On my authority, contact Baron Apros at Malano and take your choice of divisions from the 7th legion... He shouldn't complain... But! Keep your ear to the winds in the event that the rebels are able to break into Malano and Denueve. If the eastern front is broken, then we shall require all available hands to finally stamp out this fire."

"Not if I have anything to say about it", Figaro said, this time determined not to be silenced as he fingered the iron hilt of his flat blade in raw anticipation. "If every rebellion victory thus far was God's miracle, then they'll need ten thousand more just like it to live through what I've got in store for them."

* * *

The day after Gares' defeat, father Zalas traveled to Tomayang to meet with Destin Faroda. The rebel leader showed some signs of physical recovery from the battle, if not complete emotional recovery. The memories Gares' words had unleashed still hung over the rebel like the specter of death, graying out thoughts and feelings, and he found it difficult to replicate the energetic verve of his previous outlook when the priest came to visit at the pub they had converted into a temporary barracks with the owner's permission.

"He was not killed", Lans admitted on his behalf, more mindful than the rest of his brother's newfound need to wear a metaphorical mask. "But he was driven from the island, injured and humbled. He shan't return for many a month. Maybe never, if the rest of our quest is successful."

"An oath is an oath", the priest, maintained, equally devoid of the affability that he'd held during their last meeting. "You failed to kill the Black Knight. His future victims bewail that fact. The Grand Monk Forris is yet unavenged."

" I was not aware, Father", Aisha chipped in daringly from the rebel side of the table. "That the Order was so heavily invested into the concept of revenge. 'An eye for an eye leaves all men blind', is that not what the scriptures teach us?"

Zalas glowered at the girl. "You are in no position to lecture _us_ on the meaning of the scriptures, young lady. You snuck out of the temple the day before, Aisha. Left us defenseless before the Imperials. Unlike my predecessor, I do not show favoritism- when this meeting is over, we shall return to the temple and determine a sufficient punishment for you."

"Only when Gares Endora is dead, and my mother avenged, shall I return to the temple and submit to judgment", the girl countered. Impudent but firm for her age, Lans noted. "As to your defenses, I doubt that Guildus and Mildain could have made a difference against an Imperial attack if there had been one."

The head priest breathed out his exasperation. "Brat! The Grand Monk has spoiled you. But if you are truly committed to avenging her, then I grant you their services. They would follow after you even if I said no." Shaking his head in dismay, he glared hard at Destin again. "And I shall concede to your payment as well, sir, so long as you agree to assist lady Aisha in her quest."

"That was the plan", the rebel leader said gravely. "On our current course towards the rest of the Empire's holdings, our encountering the Black Knight again in battle is a foregone conclusion. And he _shall_ die. You have my word."

Zalas nodded, seemingly content with these vows. "Very well. The hidden temple of which I spoke is concealed by fog on an island in the middle of the Kastolatian Sea, about ten leagues south by southwest of the fishing village of Pittokyan. That, too, can be difficult to locate- sail thirty leagues north from the harbor city of Jabb and look to the northwest bank for a torch."

None of the division leaders showed their uncertainty towards such naval-oriented directions. Lans gestured for the man to continue.

"Some ten years ago, the priests at that temple discovered a sword washed up on the beach. A thorough examination determined it to be the legendary sword... The divine weapon called Brunhild, or else an extraordinary fake."

_This_ got Lans and Ashe's attention- both men looked closer at the priest to try and scent out the truth. "You tested it, then?", Ashe asked in awe. "Molten steel, shatter-points, vises, proofing, the whole nine yards?"

"We did", Zalas confirmed. "It stood up to everything we could muster, and the metal did not dull over the time that has passed. It is, without a doubt, the eternal sword forged by the Twenty-Two Gods, bequeathed to their champion during the Ogre Battle."

Reaching into his robe, he removed a slip of parchment, handing it over to Destin. "This note has my seal, so that the head priest there will know that you are genuine. I regret that we cannot provide Forris' seal to remove all doubt, but as things stand he may ask that you prove your virtue before giving you the sword."

"Convenient", Destin said, tilting his head, his voice suddenly cold. "You planned this all along, didn't you?"

Lans turned and saw that Gilbert and Lyon were equally confused. "Of what do you speak, sir Destin?"

"Don't you see, brother?", he smirked back at the knight, making the last word sound ironic. "Zalas is twisting our arm, making it so we have no choice but to enter Merfolk territory in order to get the Brunhild- Pittokyan is less than fifty leagues from Castle Palmirra, the very heart of mermaid territory. _And_ because of the requisite he just mentioned, we can't just smash-and-grab. The head priest there will refuse unless we slay the Mer-Queen Porkyus, I would wager. We are going to have to kill a huge majority of the mermaids there in order to get the sword, and he knew that from before we arrived here."

This news quieted the two knight captains for a moment, until Ashe stood again, coughed. "Even so, the_ Brunhild._.. more than the Herostar or the Key of Destiny, it would convince everyone that you are the hero chosen by the Gods to defeat the Empire, and lead us into a new era of prosperity."

"I know, I know", Destin waved him away. "It just bugs me the way they're using us. You know that naval combat is not our strong suit. The merfolk at Avalon demonstrated that. It's going to be rough."

As he'd expected, Father Zalas thew up both hands to deny these accusations. "Y-you misunderstand us, sir Destin. Brunhild can only be granted to a true hero, one who has proven his virtue. Furthermore, even if you passed up this golden opportunity, the merfolk would not allow you to cross over to Malano unscathed. They are all relentless killers, the fishwives. They cannot be reasoned with. Any decent human in Zenobia or Kasolat will agree that they must be stamped out."

"So you would have us exterminate the mermaids", Destin remarked in near-monotone, more than used to and more than a bit disgusted with the Zenobian stance towards 'sub-humans' by now. "Allowing the church to regain control of Kasolat, this time without having to share its authority with the Fisherman's Alliance. Very neat and tidy. We deal with your 'pest problem' and you give us the sword in return, after we'd already done your bidding once before. Miss Aisha is right, Father- your words and actions are quite far removed from the scriptures indeed."

"Our morality is our own concern, sir Destin", Zalas said gruffly. "We have chosen the path of the Gods. And I for one cannot believe you would allow the people of Kasolat to suffer under mermaid tyranny any longer than they must. Queen Porkyus has stated publicly that she desires nothing more than the death of all the humans of Kasolat."

"Then you should have moved", he shot back quickly. "Evacuated the people from the islands, let them have Kasolat as pittance to avoid war. Rumors abound that it was originally their home anyway, just as this island on which we stand was originally the dragonkin's. If they continued their attacks afterward, brought the fight to your doorstep, _then_ you are justified in self-defense."

"Sir Destin", Lans tried to defuse the growing tension across the table. "Forgive me, but it seems as though you are being deliberately antagonistic. Let us not argue! It is true, what father Zalas says. The merfolk are the Empire's sworn allies. They would not allow us to land upon their shores, even if we stayed well clear of Palmirra. This is a fight that cannot be avoided, only delayed."

"Then I guess we have no choice", Destin said, standing and looking out across the water through a window. Somewhere out there, hundreds of leagues of water away, the merfolk waited their turn to battle, this time in their own element. "I guess I'm just tired of being the only one here who has to be virtuous. We shall set sail for Jabb tomorrow. It will take at least that long, to secure seaworthy vessels."

"Hold", Zalas commanded before Destin could leave his seat. "There is one more thing."

Destin did not answer, only waiting with eyes narrowed.

"The clerics we sent you", Zalas said. "Those of them who have lived through your many battles, that is. Sir Mildain reported to me that their healing skills have transcended their rank. Before you go, today we wish to hold a ceremony at Monk Forris' communion for their escalation to the position of Shaman."

"Shamans. Like Lady Aisha.", Ashe nodded at the Grand Monk's daughter. "That means green robes?"

The head priest cracked a wizened smile. "Indeed, captain. We prepared them for you yesterday. There are ten, and we can make more for you if we have to. After the ceremony, the new Shamans shall return to the convocation to help repair some of the damage Gares has caused to our home."

It took a few breaths for those words, so casually uttered, to strike home with the rebel chiefs. "What?", Destin asked angrily. "What do you mean, 'return to the convocation'?"

Zalas stood now, matching the man's eye level. "Precisely what I said. The clerics the Order granted you under Sister Yenda, bless her soul, were never intended to be permanent contributions, particularly after the casualties we have taken this past year. They will remain here on Avalon, and become the forefront of our new Order."

Aisha looked furious at this edict, and the others held their breath waiting for Destin's answer. Lans felt a tingle creeping up his back that had nothing to do with Avalon's ley lines.

"No", he said at last. "I'm afraid I must decline."

"And I'm afraid I must insist", Zalas replied with the same resolve. "Withhold our people from returning to their rightful home by force, and you will quickly find that the Order's support for you will disappear. Could you have gotten this far, sir Destin, without our priests to heal your people's injuries? Without our material contributions, without priests all across the land preaching the word to the people that your cause is a just one, that you are in fact _Destiny's Child_? No. Of course not. Return our people to the temple tonight, or suffer the consequences. We do not wish to see your rebellion fail."

"It _will_ fail, without good healers." A look from Aisha was all he need to see, and he walked over to her chair, putting one arm around her shoulder protectively. "Father Zalas. You may spread the word that my people will no longer be welcome at Roshian temples, but I do not believe that word is as far-reaching or powerful as you would have us believe. Each head priest must make their own decision as to whether to help us or not. We will keep our Shamans, and Lady Aisha shall be their new leader- the word of the Grand Monk's daughter is nearly worth as much as yours in the Order, if not more."

The priest looked at the teal-haired girl. "Aisha Forris. This man speaks madness. Aid or abet him any further, and there shall be dire consequences for both of you."

"Funny", she said sternly, arms at her sides. "From where_ I'm_ standing, Destin isn't the one talking nonsense. I'll stick at his side until my revenge is done, _Zal-Ass_."

That did it. The priest dropped all pretense of courtesy, directing more wrath towards Aisha than Destin, but equally scornful of the rebel leader's brazen actions. "Then get out of my sight! You are no longer welcome here on Avalon. We shall prepare your vessels for the Kastolatian Sea, but after that... you are on your own. The Gods abandon you, and once you've learned what that truly means, you shall _beg_ forgiveness."

He was not prepared to see Kalanbolg sliding from its sheath, held up but not attacking yet. "You may leave", Destin countered. "The Gods may do what they will. I, on the other hand, will be destroying the Empire. By any means necessary."

* * *

In the end, it took three large-scale ships to move the rebel army from Avalon. Though the mariner volunteers, remnants of the Fisherman's Alliance, did most of the grunt work, each ship's passengers was given a commander, whether it was Harrison, Ashe, or Fubuki. All members of the rebellion capable of flight used it as a temporary base, with Canopus, Lyon, Halla and Gilbert otherwise spending most of their time in the skies watching the seas for trouble.

For trouble, the seas held in plenty. The first strike came before the port city Jabb was even within sight. Dozens of purple-finned merfolk striking from all around and only retreating into the depths to heal when they were on the verge of death. Their pets proved no better. Red rubber-skinned Octopi, eight-tentacled creatures strong enough to match dragons in the water, helped by attempting to drag crewers off the ships to their deaths.

Worst of all however were the merfolk's own division leaders, an advanced form with a longer tail and luxurious golden scales, which the fishermen referred to as a 'Nixie'. Not only were they faster and stronger than normal mermaids, but they possessed powerful ice magic that froze flesh solid just as easily as it did water. Even with Tsuno and Canopus' lightning magic blasting the treacherous tides, it was a very tired and injured group that pulled itself ashore at Jabb, quickly securing a commons room in which to plan the next stage in the offensive.

"That was just the tithe of it", Ashe confirmed their fears regretfully. "Much closer to Palmirra, and we'll have Krakens to worry about."

"Krakens", Harrison Ordas whispered breathlessly, lacking the experience to hide his own misgivings. "The elder version of an Octopus, great-lords of the sea. As far beyond them as Nixies are beyond normal mermaids. What in Hel have we gotten into?"

"Whatever it is, lad", Gilbert reminded him from the other end of a table, where Aisha was treating a trident wound in his leg. "We cannot get out of it now. We're in fishwife territory, and they shall not let us just leave after such an intrusion. The only way out is further inwards."

"Gilbert speaks the truth", Destin Faroda concurred gloomily. "I've spoken with the people here. Whatever justification Mer-Queen Porkyus might have, her people show no mercy to humans on or off the water. They are the ones who destroyed the Fisherman's Alliance, taking its leadership down into the deeps of the sea to drown. Not unlike the Empire's treatment of Zenobian royals, in fact."

"No mercy to humans", Canopus mused aloud. "They have their reasons, I suppose. I would wish to end this conflict as quickly as possible."

"So would we all", Destin said thoughtfully. "Yet every sailor I've spoken to agrees that we'll face many more Nixies and Kraken when we get anywhere near Palmirra. Imperial fliers as well, at least three divisions stationed at Malden to help them as needed."

"If there was only a way to sneak past the naval line surrounding the isle", Ashe said hopefully. "Even should they pull all their people back to Palmirra, if they fight inside the castle they are beaten- Octopi and Krakens cannot fit inside of it, for one thing."

"A diversion, then", Lans reasoned. "Mayhap something to draw their forces off while a second group makes shorefall."

"They would have to be swift when pulling out", Fubuki added, looking at Lyon expectantly. "Only fliers could create a successful diversion without forfeiting their lives. That means you, sir Oblion, or Canopus."

"Why not all three?", Destin considered. "Thinking as they must, the merfolk recognize that flying divisions are our greatest asset against them. They'd jump- figuratively speaking- at a chance to fight you on their turf without ground support or any healers. But, just to make sure..."

He gestured, bringing in one of the rugged-looking sailors they'd met upon arrival, a white-haired and bearded man who looked just as surprised to be called forward as the division chiefs were to behold him. "Harbor master Finn", Destin began calmly. "We're well aware that the mermaids have held their vendetta towards the Fisherman's Alliance- and by extension all humans- for a number of reasons, most commonly whatever it is you do while at sea."

The old mariner gave a show of going over memories of the glory days of his organization before looking hard at the Wind Rider. "The fishwives believe that the Kastolation Sea is their domain alone", he said. "That everything within its vast waters belongs solely to them. Removing anything from it, whether it be fish or pearls or sunken treasure, was reason enough for them to become hostile, until Queen Porkyus declared all-out war. Now there's constant skirmishes everywhere."

"And they have some way of knowing when that happens?"

Finn shook his head. "We used to get away with such things, took in salmon and pike by the thousands to feed our families. It didn't get truly bad until someone put a rumor out that eating mermaid scales- mermaid_ sashimi-_ would make you immortal. As luck would have it, someone in our inner circle caught, killed, cooked and ate a mermaid of close relation to the Mermaid Queen. _That_ was when they started to take notice of everything else we were doing, got territorial about it."

He shuddered, remembering well the eventual death of his friends at mermaid hands. "Hostilities between us and the fishwives got worse with every year until, with the Empire's help, they militarized their people to cover a lot more of the region around Palmirra. Expanding outward every year, placing the entire sea under their dominion. Sure, they can't possibly be watching everywhere all the time, but very few of us still take that risk."

"Then that is what we shall do", Destin proclaimed. "With lightning magic, we can kill every fish in a 50-meter radius. Keep shocking the water and they'll come to stop us. We capture and threaten to eat the first patrol that finds us, to ensure that they send as many divisions as possible."

As he'd expected, more than one of his chiefs did not like the sound of this plan. "Brilliant as this strategy may be", Gilbert found the courage to suggest. "The merfolk will respond wrathfully towards the people here for such an assault on their protectorate."

"Precisely. That is why it shall be so effective."

Canopus stood, looking at their leader as if beholding a stranger. "Doing this will destroy the beautiful coral reefs at the bottom of the sea. And threatening to eat a mermaid..."

"A good point, Master Walf. We will likely have to actually eat one, to prove that we're serious. If no one else will, I shall."

"My Lord", the Wind Rider shrugged his wings helplessly. "I cannot do this. My people will be made pariahs to the merfolk after centuries of peaceful coexistence."

His friend looked sad but firm. "I'm sorry Wind Rider, but Hadrigan died fighting a wild Red at Avalon. You're the only one left here who can fly and use lightning magic. It has to be you."

"It cannot be me", he said. "I will _not _violate their domain just so we can kill their queen. There must be some other way, perhaps an air strike on the castle-"

"Canopus Walf", Destin stood up, this time completely serious. "I have gone over many possible alternatives, but this plan is the one most likely to minimize bloodshed on both sides- the majority of their people shall live. That, for me, is priority number one. I desire no genocide. If you refuse to understand that, then I have no choice but to force your hand."

Hearing that, Canopus went very still, and saw a similar freeze in the faces of many of the other division chiefs.

"You once promised me that you would never threaten my sister."

"And I had hoped I would never have to break that promise. But if it saves lives, then I am not only willing, but _obligated_ to break my word. I would be selfish to do anything less."

For a split-second, the Wind Rider's eyes drifted towards his weapon, a thick club capable of splitting iron. But many of the others seemed to be copying Destin's rigid determination now. He would not even get close, and the cost could well be Yulia's life. "...Very well. We shall depart for the waters around Malden tomorrow." And the bird man departed, refusing to meet anyone else's gaze before slamming the door open and shut again.

* * *

In a kingdom whose rulers had long ago decided to leave every district with a fortress visible as a constant reminder of the might which had forged it, Castle Palmirra, fortified heart of the Kastolatian Sea, stood out.

Though initially built as a bastion of humans, the place had been granted to the merfolk long before the current conflict after the shocking discovery that the fortress' land sat atop the primary colony of mermaids, a vast reef stretching from the north coast down to the bottom of the sea.

Whatever the error had been along the human chain of command centuries back, the citadel had long since replaced the warrens it had crushed when the moist ground sank beneath it, leaving the castle partially submerged. With the place abandoned, the merfolk had only assisted Palmirra's gradual descent into the softened earth, the brick halls eventually filled with enough water for the merfolk to be comfortable in. In spite of this, a sizable space of air remained towards the castle's ceiling in the main hall.

It was in this space that Mer-Queen Porkyus and her four escorts floated, waiting for her guest to come through highest row of windows, the only ones not already underwater. As the eldest living of her kind, she alone could remember this bastion's bizarre beginnings as a monument to the greed and ineptness of the Fisherman's Alliance. Beyond this tendency to drift into old memories, her position also showed through the length of her gold-scaled tail, twice the size of any other Nixie. Further up past a sharp dorsal fin, the scales shifted to a regal blue that glimmered as she swam through her castle. After that, like the rest of her kin there was a transition into pink flesh closer to a human. From the midpoint on upwards, all of the mermaids in Kasolat might have been mistaken for ethereally beautiful human women, each of them sharing the same general length of hair and dress. A fact that many of her people had learned to despair of, for a number of humans would only let their eyes travel that far before getting unwholesome ideas. It never ended well.

_If they aren't trying to kill and eat us for that ridiculous sashimi rumor_, Queen Porkyus bemoaned silently. _They try to catch or exploit us. _A hard fact of reality, and one she could never let herself forget no matter how much it might benefit them to make peace. Humans, or at least Zenobian humans, were savages. Pure savages. They cared nothing for the sanctity of the ocean and only saw other species as something to be exploited.

The Alliance had been the avatar of this ideal, heedless in its abuse of the marine paradise they had settled in. They slew every creature under the waves from minnows to Octopi with no thought as to how they would replenish themselves while being killed at such a rate. Killing their leaders was not something she would regret any time soon.

But Porkyus was no fool. She understood better than most how difficult a war to purge all of humanity from their realm would be for her people by themselves. War was not a course of action she was naturally inclined to- it was ebony-scaled Lady Eribeth, her second-in-command swimming off to her left, who was the warrior princess here. Swimming up to the top of the fortress, Porkyus made sure to wave down any attempts at attacking the small formation of winged figures that were flying down towards the upper windows that morning. Anyone should have been able to tell from the wings alone that these guests were not the detestable humans, but Eribeth was nothing if not paranoid.

Canopus Walf swooped across the waves towards a parapet not yet submerged, bringing four other fliers in his wake, one of them a Griffin and the rest bird men like himself. Porkyus took a moment to quash any bit of hero-worship in her heart that might betray her judgment towards the legendary winged warrior. Though not human, their affiliations with humans were cause for alarm. She took hold of her improvised throne in the castle, a huge statue of a horseman that had a base perfect for lounging in, letting her tail drop down limp along the bottom steps in the water. "Greetings, Wind Rider. I had hoped to meet you under better circumstances than this, but such is life."

"Greetings from the Hawk Clan, Mer-Queen Porkyus", Canopus replied evenly once his people had found their own bits of semi-dry perch. "I am grateful to say that we are not here to fight, and even more so to find no fighting was required for us to reach you. How did you know we were coming?"

Porkyus fixed her magenta eyes on the ceiling, still as solid as it had been when the place was sunk. "We were given notification from our scouts of your approach many leagues before you saw this land mass."

"As Destin figured", the bird man noted tiredly. "If they'd attempted a full naval assault, they would never have reached you with their vessels intact."

"Yes" she agreed, businesslike. "So it is true then. You've shackled yourself to humans and brought your brethren with you. I can only pray you did not drag little Yulia into this mess." She had always admired the young bird-girl's free spirit during their visits before the dark times. A refreshing alternative in a world where it oft-seemed everyone had the gravitas of battle upon their mind.

Canopus' wings flexed, his feathers ruffled in irritation... but not towards Porkyus. "Unfortunately, your majesty, that is exactly what has happened. Yulie's hiding place was discovered during the battle of South Sharom several months ago, and since then I've had no choice but to follow their orders, a slave to the rebellion, or risk her life."

"The scum-sucking vermin", she spat out in a fury. "That is why she is not with you, yes? You desire our help in saving her?"

"I do", the bird man confessed. "I was instructed by my 'masters' to direct my Thunder magic towards a large cluster of fish located near the shrine city of Malden. Killing them all to create a diversion, so that you would send the bulwark of your forces against us in outrage, allowing the humans to launch a surprise attack through the Tokelau strait. Instead, I came here to seek your help, your majesty. We have less than six hours before they discover my deception."

Porkyus considered, unconsciously braiding her wild mane of brown hair even though it would surely untangle the moment she returned to the life-giving water. "The most obvious solution would be an assault on the enemy strike force. The human Destin, the one whom they claim to be chosen by their Twenty-Two Gods, will be there, correct? Kill him, and our enemy is beaten."

"I've heard it before", Canopus said. "In any case, killing Destin will not prevent the other humans from executing Yulie once they learn of our betrayal."

"True" she acknowledged grimly. "But we cannot allow the strike force to live either. I shall dispatch a smaller defense group, not all our forces but enough to make them turn back." Requesting a moment's intermission, she dove under the waves and did exactly that, relaying the command through a barrage of resounding clicks many creatures of the sea were capable of, amplified by the water. The order would be relayed by others waiting outside Palmirra, who would then swim out to open sea and pass it on to the next closest division until all the mermaids knew what was going on.

"In the meantime", the Queen decided upon returning to the surface of her throne room, "we shall strike at Jabb, where Yulia is being held."

Canopus frowned. "How did you know? They didn't advertise it to anyone but me."

"The boon of being allies with the Empire", Porkyus said smugly. "I know. I know they're humans as well, but after ten years Empress Endora has not yet violated our treaty or abused our people in any way. She seemed far more reasonable than those imbeciles in the Fisherman's Alliance who only think of their pocketbooks. Their spies report to whoever is in command of the region the rebels are attacking, or to Sage Rashidi if they cannot."

"Destin killed one such spy", the Wind Rider mused. "Blaine Diwrnach, a Doll Magi."

"That's just the start", she advised him confidently. "That human has yet to realize just how many of his own people are working against him in secret. If all goes well, he shall never know."

"Yet despite that he advances this far", Canopus warned her. "Don't take him lightly. That was my mistake, and that of many other Imperial leaders."

Porkyus shrugged, flipping her regal tail fin in disdain. "I'm not an Imperial leader. I do what I must for my people, just as you try to do what is best for the bird men to save them from humanity's predations. We are the same, are we not?"

The bird man sagged, his white wings drooped, for a moment covering his eyes with one arm so none could see. "Yes. You're right, my dear Queen. We _are_ the same. And I'm sorry."

With that, before anyone could react, he drove his club weapon into the surface of the water. There was no time to warn her bodyguards, only to dive deep, plunging down into the depths so that the surge of lightning blasting the water might not reach her. One bolt felt like it came close, leaving behind a scent in the water most vile, but Porkyus reacted quickly, rising back to the surface with a spell already prepared.

The trident that led her people into battle flared incandescent with white, and two of Canopus' allies fell into the waves as chilling winds of white buffeted them, coating their wings in ice. Already two of the surviving merfolk had risen to battle the other bird men, but not fast enough to catch the Wind Rider as he darted straight into her braced weapon. "TREACHERY!", she hissed between clenched lips as they fought. "You come here only to kill us, Wind Rider!"

Impassive and silent, Canopus brought his own weapon to stagger hers, only stymied by her sinking back into the depths. Rejuvenated by the calming sense of water all around, she rose back up again to take him in the back. Though her foe parried, the only defense he could muster for the blast of ice that followed was to raise his wings in a protective stance. Her tail now struck him sharply in the back, and the Wind Rider now fell down beneath the waves, out of his element but not yet knocked out.

Regardless, this fight was hers now. Descending upon the bird man with her trident, she drove him further and further down with slash after slash, sending out frantic clicks to the castle's defenders as an afterthought. They could be here in less than a minute, emerging from the wide viaducts at the bottom of the sunken hall to reinforce the throne room. The sounds seemed to rouse Canopus, who now flexed both his wings like fins before darting away from a death-blow at a speed no land-dweller should have been capable of.

Missing again, she cursed silently. The Wind Rider was no amateur- in fact he might have been the most skilled of his people alive. No matter how unpleasant being submerged underwater was for the bird men normally, this one had taken the time to learn to use his wings equally well beneath the waves, not flapping but gliding on the delicate implements on his back, subtle shifts changing his course around to take her head-on while kicking with both legs for speed, so that he nearly moved through the water as fast as she did.

Both passed each other again, attacking and missing, and as she came back around Porkyus knew the Hawk leader's time was not long. Tiny bubbles drifting upward from his closed mouth betrayed how close he was to running out of oxygen. The smart move would be to dive down deep into the castle's bottom levels, and let her guards handle the assassins once the Wind Rider came up for air.

But a black rage was still pounding heavily through the Mer-Queen's blood that day. One more charge. One more charge, and he would be done. The Wind Rider had lied to and betrayed her, playing off her sympathy towards Yulia and all demi-humans just so he could better serve his slave masters as they tightened their grip over the natural world, as humans always did. He and his masters stood in the way of a peaceful world for all merfolk.

For that, she would very much enjoy taking a personal hand in his defeat.

"Meet the same fate as all the filthy humans!", she screeched before lunging through the water towards him at full speed. "DIE!"

Then, when their weapons were less than five meters apart, Canopus twisted aside, letting the trident skim his front side before bringing the club around to strike Porkyus heavily in the gut. A lifetime of combat experience compensating for the very worst of terrain disadvantages, he held his grip, driving the weapon deeper in before it flared out with the deadly lightning, shocking the Mer-Queen past lucidity even as it wracked his own body with pain.

Once she had fallen still, both figures slowly rose to the surface, causing the duels still going on up there to grind to a halt when they saw the Mer-Queen motionless, her body draped over Canopus' leg with her hair dangling limply down into the surf.

"I'm sorry", the Wind Rider broke his silence at last. "This is how it must be."

"Wlegh...", the mermaid babbled, her mind scrambled, unable to form legible words after such a terrible jolt. "Nagh... hekk...orld..."

Revulsion filled him, distaste for the deed he had to perform, and he continued to speak out loud in an effort to convince his arm muscles to move in the required ways. "Your people are the Empire's most loyal allies. You would never have been swayed, would never have allowed the rebellion to reach Malano. Not while you yet lived, your majesty. Against such a dangerous enemy, we can take no chances. I am sorry."

Wasting no further time, Canopus felt down though her scales to reach her spinal column. Different from a human's but close enough, it gave way before his great strength as he twisted, heard a short cracking noise... and Mer-Queen Porkyus fell down to the pool's very bottom, and breathed no longer.

* * *

The temple was like any other, with no special trappings announcing the importance of the treasure it was said to hold. In fact it was a great deal emptier than most, with only one priest visible in the light of the main hall's single brazier as Destin Faroda's division set foot there. Before long, that one had fetched the designated leader, who approached with a more willful bearing despite not truly being of any greater station than those under him.

"Destiny's Child", the bearded man greeted them overtly upon seeing the trademark red armour on the leader. "The tales of your journeys precede you. I am called Rastaban. May the Twenty-Two always watch over you."

The rebel leader all the lands of the south now knew as either friend or enemy gave only a nod, mere lip service to the full ceremony of Roshian. "I'm certain they do, brother. You have the sword?"

The priest immediately became apprehensive, and Destin forced himself not to become angry with him. It was not his fault that Zalas had been so stubborn, and if it came down to it, his retinue could certainly persuade him not to make this journey a waste of time. "O-of course, sir Destin. It is hidden within this temple, apart from the rest of the treasury."

"Bring it, then."

Rastaban took some time to collect his thoughts, nodding imperceptibly to one of the other priests and causing him to jog off to parts unknown. "Though no one disputes your claim to the be the rightful owner of the weapon of the heavens, the Gods may demand further proof before I could in good faith grant the Brunhild to you. What news of the merfolk?"

"Queen Porkyus is dead", Destin announced flatly, handing over Zalas' note for whatever it was still worth. "Castle Palmirra has been cleared of mermaids. The rest of the them have rallied under Lady Eribeth's banner, but it shall be many days before they are able to mount any sort of response."

The priest clasped his hands in gratitude. "Good. Very good! All of Kasolat is in your debt for ridding us of the fishwife plague. Perhaps if you might stay but a few days more, it might be possible for you to-"

He'd pushed too far. Kalanbolg snapped up, not pointed at him but ready to defend or attack as required. "The Brunhild. Now. I have delivered what we were asked to twice over now, and I don't intend to leave this island without some kind of reward for the blood that has been shed this day, both mermaid and human."

Not sure how to respond to such a statement after a lifetime spent hating and fearing the merfolk, Rastaban's green eyes widened in confusion. "There is one other thing. I received a letter from Father Zalas-"

"It's overwritten", a girl's voice came from behind Destin, young but stern and he now recognized the Grand Monk's daughter Aisha in her mauve robes and curly teal hair. "Whatever the current standing between my Lord Destin and the Order of Roshian now, a reward was still promised to him. Trust me, breaking our word to him after all he's done for us would be _most_ unwise. Especially considering how well-armed your people are."

He blinked. Just when had this transaction spiraled out of control? "If I've done something to offend thee-"

"You haven't", Destin assured him with the same strange emptiness as before. "Simply present the weapon we were promised, and we'll not bother you again."

"B-but, Father Zalas is now declaring himself the Grand Patriarch, I cannot, I could not, it-"

Aisha's ankh rapped the ground. "He was never granted that title by my mother, brother Rastaban. He has as much right to lead the Order as you do."

"When the Empire is defeated", Destin seconded beside her. "We will require an Order of Roshian focused on humanitarian missions, to heal the lasting wounds of a long war. I believe miss Aisha has more right to become the new head of that Order than anyone else."

He could take no more. Breaking down, Rastaban led the group to the end of the hall where one of the priests was already preparing a bucket to throw upon the fire. "Enchanted fire", he explained nervously. "Lacking access to shipments of incense, many of the Kastolatian temples hired travelling magicians to provide us with a source of light and heat for the cold winter nights. Only sacred water from our fountain can successfully douse it."

On his word, the acolyte emptied the bucket into the brazier, the water draining through a tiny hole at the very bottom once it had removed all trace of flame from the wide dish. Climbing upon it, he beckoned for Destin and Aisha to follow.

The brick was well-hidden as ever, flush against the wall so that only the one who had created the hiding place would know where to press both hands, sliding the portion off to the left before revealing the treasure. Three feet of flawless-seeming metal glittered in the afternoon light, and an edge engraved with twenty-two heiroglyphic characters, each one of them corresponding to a Zenobian God, stared back at them.

With a lack of awe that annoyed it's keepers, Destin took the Brunhild in his left hand, taking the moment to observe every surface from each angle, the way the blade slowly tapered into a blunt point, or how the golden hilt covered the haft in a way so that one could trap an enemy's blade there, but never by accident. "It is the perfect weapon, my lord", the head priest commented obsequiously. "That is a blade which can pierce the heavens, and it is enduring as its makers- you shall never need to proof or repair it. Abandoned since the legendary Ogre Battle, and only resurfaced recently. Truly we are blessed!"

"Longer than Kalanbolg", Destin found himself observing, comparing the eternally-shining edge to his old weapon. He swung it once. Twice. "Lighter too. It might be tricky to wield two of such different lengths and strengths, but I think I'll manage. Just needs a little practice."

Beside him, Rastaban gaped. "That's all? This is the last remaining weapon forged by the divine! Though I may damn myself by telling you this, it's presence may well earn you a great deal more power in most of the Zenobian Orders, such as Beast Lord or Doll Magi. To say nothing of our own."

"Then it will prove very useful, if you speak the truth", Destin acknowledged. The weapon might yet gain back the support of the Order of Roshian he had so recently lost in his anger. "Did you expect a ceremony of some kind?"

"Precisely, Lord", he said after a dozen seconds trying to find the right words, though basking in the sword's light seemed to restore his confidence to a degree. "Something to denote the significance of such a relic, at least. Why do you compare it to that old blade of yours? Mere mortal works could never surpass Brunhild."

"That remains to be seen", Destin considered, holding up Kalanbolg up against the new weapon. "And besides, I'm much more familiar with my old sword. I don't know if a priest would understand. But when a warrior spends enough time with one kind of weapon, transitioning to another is... difficult. There's always a period where you catch yourself making stupid mistakes, your reflexes still conditioned to work with your previous setup. But I thank you again, brother Rastaban, for this mighty gift."

"A moment, lord?", the priest had worked up the courage to ask once they'd turned around to leave. "You're certain you wish to share this with us?", Aisha shot back dourly. "Zal-Ass may not approve."

"The worst thing he can do is banish me from the Grand Temple", Rastaban admitted, eyeing Aisha's round face as he bowed to her. "Which I haven't visited in years, so it makes little difference. I am sorry. Though fealty to the Twenty-Two is not a matter for debate, with Forris gone many of us may have to reconsider whom we pledge to. It would not do to have a power-struggle in the church now, of all times. I was wondering if you knew the rest of the legend regarding that sword? Then, perhaps, you'd be more respectful of it."

"I'm listening", Destin said patiently, turning around after instructing the rest of his people to move on.

"The scriptures tell that Brunhild is the weapon which won the Ogre Battle", Rastaban began, preferring to face the sword as he spoke rather than the two semi-annoyed faces of killers. "The Ogre Battle, wherein the Ogres, the mighty progenitors of all evil, were defeated and banished from the Earth's surface by mortal champions selected by the Gods. But rumors still persist that many of the survivors of that war yet live. More specifically, the 3 Sky Knights."

"But you said they were mortal", Destin said, being used to the old Zenobian legends making more sense than that, however long-ago they were set. "How could they live still, and how could it be that they have not been found by man?"

"The scriptures tell us", Rastaban replied, "that the world lapsed back into chaos shortly after the Ogres were buried down in Hel- remember, this was before any of the kingdoms of man that exist today were even a whisper. Disgusted by the behavior of the people they had just granted a world to, the Sky Knights and their followers left this world, creating a new sanctuary somewhere in the heavens."

Here, he focused closely on Destin once again. "Yet, they did not abandon the Earth in entirety. They knew that humans were capable of becoming nearly as vile as the Ogres they had replaced as the dominant race, and if ever such humans gained power then the world they'd created would be in great danger. They left behind the magical Chaos gates hidden throughout the land, so that if they were needed again they could return to the Earth. The Brunhild, it is said... is the key to those very gates!"

Breaking off the melodramatics, he shrugged. "At least, that is what is written in the legends. They do tend to exaggerate. The witch Mango, at the city of Kas'Rom, may know more."

"An... interesting story", Destin found the breath to say a beat later. It didn't feel right to use the unkind words on the tip of his tongue after Rastaban had spoken of the scriptures and legends with such reverence. "But... Wouldn't the Sky Knights know of our plight if they still existed?"

Rastaban shook his head. "As savage as this war has become, humanity's continued existence is not yet threatened by it. Yes yes, I have heard tell that you encountered some demons in the Pogrom Forest district, summoned through the _Ars_ _Goetia _by Kapella Radigan... But in truth, those creatures are only the Ogres' weakest descendents, their strength diminished greatly by time. Had they been the real thing, you would not have made it past them... and all Zenobia would be a burning wasteland by now."

"The Ogres are really that powerful... Huh." Looking back at Brunhild, he slid the other hand along it's length, trying to read each character as his thumb passed it by. It was no use- he was no expert in ancient languages despite growing up with Warren Moon. Indeed, every legend he'd heard painted the Ogres as vicious monsters, the Ur-demons beyond human imagining both in form and power. "Stang. Their children were tough enough to bring down. Thank you for the story, Rastaban. We'll be on our way now."

"Gods guide you!", he exhalted, at last letting them depart. "And may the Sky Knights take note of your quest, for I am sure they shall recognize a fellow champion when they see it!"

"Did you mean all that?", Aisha asked once they were out of earshot. "Making me the new head of the Order?"

"Only if you believe yourself to be ready, girl", Destin assuaged, not missing a step as they walked together. "I only desire someone willing to work with us. Zalas is not. Without Roshian healers, without their 'cult of personality' or financing, this war will become a great deal more difficult for us to win. Not that it wasn't already."

"Too young", she sighed emphatically as they passed through the healing wing, ignoring the occasional scream. "That is what they shall say, what Father Zalas shall say to everyone. That I am too young. A sixteen year-old_ girl_ cannot become the Pope of the Roshian Order."

"They once said a twenty-nine year-old novice swordsman cannot lead the rebellion", he countered smoothly. "You know so much more of the Order's code than I, Lady Aisha. Is there no section that forbids such an inheritance, so long as the heir is celibate and good?"

"I am not certain, sir Destin", a new voice answered him as Lans Hamilton stepped out from the temple archway, his features gaunt and drawn. "That Lady Aisha could be considered to be 'good'."

"Brother", Destin greeted him. "What brings you here? I had thought your division was already returned to Jabb."

"I felt the need to clarify a few things", the knight captain said, and now Destin could feel that familiar resentment in his words, that same withering distaste that had brought him to the planning room before the battle for Zenobia's capital had begun. He'd been put off then, sent off to kill a man who had turned out to be an ally, but it was clear this time that no such trick would work. "You arranged for the Wind Rider to assassinate Queen Porkyus under the guise of a sub-human alliance. To get him to do this, you threatened the life of an innocent girl, Lady Yulia."

"Stay, Aisha", Destin asked when the girl looked like she was about to leave them. "We'll not say anything you shouldn't hear."

"I cannot make the same guarantee", Lans replied acidly. "You _used_ us, sir Destin. You tricked us into believing that Canopus would be providing a diversion far away from the castle. Instead, you sent his division to kill Porkyus directly while we braved the Tokelau strait without you."

"I arranged that in secret with Canopus", Destin explained. "After he put on that big show of being angry with me, I spoke to him again, this time in private, told him what to do. I would never truly hurt Yulia, I just needed everyone to _think_ I would. I needed an unscripted reaction from Canopus, so as to throw off any spies still among us. You don't see _him_ complaining about my methods."

"Master Walf is in no state to complain. He has not said a word to anyone since he confirmed Queen Porkyus' death. He has not even eaten."

Destin shrugged, wondering idly if seeing the Brunhild's light would stop this barrage of accusations from his friend. "His first time killing an Imperial leader, Lans. He'll get over it."

"His first time killing an Imperial leader who was not evil", Lans corrected him. "Where _is_ Lady Yulia?"

"She's safe. Back on island Avalon, trying to recruit some of the indigenous fairies there to our cause. I left her with a bodyguard, don't worry."

"I worry", Lans hammered. "Not only of her safety, sir Destin, but of your _sanity_. You would turn control of the Order of Roshian over to a teenage girl so maddened with revenge?"

"Hey!", Aisha interrupted. "I never said yes!"

Both men ignored her, too focused on the other's outrage now. "Before that, you made a deliberate enemy of the most powerful man in the Roshian Order", Lans continued. "Before that, you sacrificed a good man, so that you would survive the battle of El Rangen. Before _that_, you not only forgave the witch Deneb, but allowed her to dig her hooks deeper and deeper into you. You've changed. _She _has changed you, just as Gares has changed you."

"Guilty as charged", Destin whispered, feeling his own anger rising to the surface with each accusation the knight levelled at him. "I retract my earlier statement, Aisha. You may leave now, if you wish." Letting the girl in on such a private conversation had been intended as a trust-building exercise, but upon hearing what he had planned now even she might think twice about her allegiances. That would not do. He needed her to be loyal to him.

"Now", he spun around once he was sure she was gone. "From the top. Let all the curtains be dropped. Let us speak completely openly and honestly, for I've long since grown sick of diplomatic niceties, having to be polite around people who deserve nothing of the sort."

"In that", Lans admitted, "we are in agreement".

"You might have noticed by now, _brother_", his old friend started evenly. "But I am _not_ like ordinary men. I've been raised apart from the kingdom I've been tasked to save, secluded from interaction with them, and so I knew very little of them at first. Raised by the Moon Sage on the Tor, who as it turns out was merely using me to further some other scheme."

"He loved you", Lans protested flatly. "You know he loved you as a son. As did I."

"Did he?", Destin asked, his fury rising to the surface. "Did he truly? I'm not so sure. Mayhap if he loved me, then he would not have turned me into his weapon against the Empire. Would have told me of my past, instead of letting me exist as a nameless wanderer. I was meant to be his tool, nothing more. Imagine how that makes me feel, as a human being."

"You have friends", Lans tried, desperate to head him off. "Friends who would lay down their lives for you!"

"Acquaintances", Destin dismissed it with one gauntleted hand. "People who come to me for the promise of glory and the re-attainment of their lands, or else simply lured in by the Gods' blessing." He stopped, now more regretful in his words but no less passionate.

"That's the problem, you see Lans. I _know_ people. The Gods have granted me the power to see into the innermost hearts of all mortal men, to understand and provide their deepest desires with honeyed words and bring them to my side. The mind, the body, the soul... when I understand these things so perfectly, how can I _not_ view them in the abstract? They're all so simple. They're so _stupid,_ so easily led. I could make my bid for the throne right now with the support of Aisha's Order and Brunhild's clout and no one could stop me."

"I can stop you", Lans claimed, one hand drifting to his blade. "This is not the path Warren wished for Destiny's Child to walk. It is not the path of kings."

"Which is why I took it. I'm _through_ with Warren's manipulations."

Now freely brandishing the Brunhild, he fixed Lans with an unearthly stare. "From now on, this rebellion is _mine_, not his. I shall save the other kingdoms from Imperial rule, and I shall do it using the methods of the very least bloodshed, ones that only _I_ can see. If doing that requires me to make strategic moves that some might brand as cowardly or evil, then so be it."

Lans felt as though he might weep. His sworn brother was confessing to a wealth of grievous sins before his very eyes, and there was nothing he could do to stop such a down-slide. "Moving on to the rest of your accusations", he continued starkly, talking faster and faster as if sensing how much his friend was already hurting. "In all of the world I've seen thus far, there's only ever been one person who truly loved me for who I _am_, not the cause which I lead. Her name is Deneb Rhodes, and she is more of a human being than any peasant in Zenobia. She gave me my first kiss. She is _wonderful_."

"Please, sir Destin. She's ensnared you!", Lans pleaded. "Cast a hex upon you to make you feel that way about her!"

Just like that, they were back at the barracks in Zenobia, arguing the same thing as before. This time, however, both men had lost their patience for splitting hairs. "Keep telling yourself that, brother", Destin sneered. "Mayhap one day it shall come true."

"Then there is no helping it", the knight captain shook his head in surrender. "You've fallen from grace, and become just as callous towards your fellow man as the Imperials. We'll keep on fighting. The Empire is still the greater evil. But I warn you, sir Destin. Abuse our trust in you much more, and I shall be unable to affiliate myself with such a tarnished cause any longer. That's an oath that many of us have sworn, including sir Ashe."

"Do what you must", his friend breathed out. "I'm exhausted. With all of this."

"Think on your comrades, my friend!", Lans tried one last time as the rebel leader swept past him out of the temple gates. "I beg you, _think_ on the honors you've been granted, the accolades few others could ever attain. Do you feel nothing for them?"

Destin stopped, and for a moment Lans believed him to be reconsidering the stance he'd taken. "I do apologize for deceiving you so many times, brother. And I shall be honest with you now. No. I do not. Zenobia is not my land. I feel nothing, Lans. No pride in the praise of millions, no sorrow in losing the Order's favor, nor even the connections of a true family. Nothing."

Nothing as he walked away, nothing as he joined the assembled divisions waiting outside for him.

Nothing at all.

* * *

A/N: If my favorite authors are any indication, making a heroic character slide down the slope of morality in a realistic way is a tricky, tricky business. Probably why so few write such a thing- I can only remember a handful and many of them go from good to evil in a handful of scenes. That said, I hope this matches my usual standards. Let me know what you think. Happy Groundhog Day.


	15. Crimes

**Crimes**

* * *

**Tarot XIV - Temperance**

_Continuing on his spiritual path, the Fool begins to wonder how to reconcile the opposites that he's been facing: material and spiritual (which he hung between as the Hanged man), death and birth (the one leading into the other in the Death card). It is at this point that he comes upon a winged figure standing with one foot in a brook, the other on a rock. The radiant creature pours something from one flask into another. Drawing closer, the Fool sees that what is being poured from one flask is fire, while water flows from the other. The two are being blended together! _

_"How can you mix fire and water?" the Fool finally whispers. Never pausing the Angel answers, "You must have the right vessels and the right proportions." The Fool watches with wonder. "Can this be done with all opposites?" he asks. "Indeed," the Angel replies, "Any oppositions, fire and water, man and woman, thesis and anti-thesis, can be made to harmonize. It is only a lack of will and a disbelief in the possibility of unity that keeps opposites, opposite." And that is when the Fool begins to understand that he is the one who is keeping his universe in twain, holding life and death, the material world and spiritual world separate. In him, the two could merge, as in the vessels that the Angel uses to pour the elements, one to the other. All it takes, the Fool realizes, is the right proportions...and the right vessel._

* * *

Diaspola rarely changed with the seasons, Ceril Battas observed as his division sloughed along the winding passage that took the bulwark of the 10th legion through the heart of the Empire's famous 'floating prison'. The mountains that began with sheer cliffs forming narrow chasms through the middle of the region were too steep for much snow to accumulate upon them during the winter, and the updraft from the valleys to the north too warm for ice to form on the hundreds of tiny rivers forking through the coastal region.

No new construction or destruction had occurred here for decades. For those imprisoned here, it would be easy to imagine the region as a kind of purgatory, sealed off from the rest of the world by a ring of mountains and endless sea to the east, with only a small breach to the far southwest. A very well-protected breach, guarded by a mountain fortress carved into the frigid rock border, and staffed by a garrison.

For Ceril however, it was home. Other realms in Malano changed with the times. They often grew worse as time went on and the Empire initiated some kind of purge of dissidents or taxation of resources, but for the place charged with housing those dissidents, he could return home knowing little had changed between visits except the makeup of the population. Those of Diaspola either innocent or friendly enough to stay out of trouble knitted themselves into their own small communities, clusters of small facilities lining the dividing valley almost like a true district.

And now, it was his job to help defend that community from those who would conquer it and turn it into their staging area. Everyone in his division was smart enough to know what the rebels wanted from the place after making shorefall at the Poache Coast to the southeast. Looking into the glinting blade sheathed at his side, the knight swore that would not happen. Not while he breathed, and the same went for a great many of the other Imperials to either side.

Presumably, the same went for dark-skinned Rhea Luvalon, their new captain and an acclaimed Muse. The daughter of the _Vier-_Deva led the way along the canyon passageway, reasonable but firm in her authority, with two other divisions from the 10th legion following closely behind. Here was a commander he could feel confident in, whether because she had served as the legendary Kaus Debonair's second-in-command before his demise or because she seemed stronger and more skilled than anyone else in this army.

Here was a more invigorating superior than the merchant princess Norn Dias, or Ceril's previous captain who had died fighting pirates nary a month ago. Much more pleasant to behold, as well. Ceril's girlfriend could not compare, and he was sure she would forgive the occasional furtive glance at the new captain's stoic but attractive features.

The division ground to a halt near Romorantan, a river-bound fishery long past its prime. The rebels were waiting- Ceril counted three divisions, with the added threat of a pair of green dragons overhead, just barely visible through dense cloud cover. A pair of two-headed worgen could be seen towards the east flank, and Rhea clearly recognized more than one of the enemy captains, all of their foremost qualities the subject of a hundred rumours.

But their own forces were nothing to sneeze at either. A silver dragon of their own flew overhead, bearing a rugged old samurai captain whom everyone said was fast approaching mastery. Ceril's row of knights would be supplemented by Roshian clerics conscripted into Imperial service, while basic-level wizards waited in the rear to loose their spells from the back of line. For once, the damnable rebels would not be the only ones to enjoy healing in the middle of a battle, which captain Rhea said had enabled them to steal victory from the jaws of defeat more than once.

Rhea wasted no time with pleasantries- the time when the Empire could afford their foes such luxury was long past. Ignoring the rebel strange howl of Zenobian language which must have been their battle cry, she motioned for the wizards and archers to open fire, forcing the enemy to move or suffer.

Then Ceril saw Destin Faroda. The rebel leader's face and armour were known to every man and woman in the Empire by now, and the reaction was sudden if predictable. Three eager wizards aimed blasts of convalescing darkness towards the red-clad heretic, two countered by fireballs from his own divisions and the third cleaved by the man's blade. Destin was a dual-wielder, Ceril noticed as he made ready to charge. Taking advantage of lighter armour, he abandoned the traditional knight's shield and sword combination in lieu of using two swords in tandem. More curiously, one of the blades- the one that shimmered even in the dim light- was a whole foot longer than the other one. This made his stance seem rangy and awkward.

Ceril was less than five feet from the young-looking cleric beside Destin when he saw both swords rise up with no target. He had been around wizards enough not to be surprised at the surge of pressure emanating from the two weapons upon such a gesture, the prelude to some kind of elemental spell. _"Phantom!" _He shrieked to the sky.

What surprised him- a half-second before he was blasted off his feet- was the_ power_ of it. Bringing both swords together, his target had generated a swarm of glowing golden clouds most similar to the horrific, gaping heads of ghosts from Antalia. They rolled right over the attacking knights and samurai, turning cries of eagerness for killing into those of pain and despair. Ceril felt the effects wash over him like a tidal wave as he howled, the ghost-head passing through him not shedding any blood but clearly doing _something _that made him feel too weak to stand. Beside him, he saw that three other soldiers had experienced the same thing, and now lay equally helpless for the rebel line to finish off.

"Kill me", Ceril choked. He could feel his own ghost-head burrowed beneath the flesh, tearing at _something_ inside that made him wince just to contemplate. Two years in the army and he'd never experienced anything like it, only heard stories of such powerful Arcane magicks used by Prince Gares or Sage Rashidi. The truth of it was more awful than he could have imagined, an undulating wave of terror that spared no one. _And they call us inhuman!_

After what felt like an eternity, his prayer was answered- a rebel knight in dark-blue armour stood over him, his larger sword at the ready but hesitating for some reason Ceril could not comprehend. The face was inscrutable through the visor. "Do it... I beg of you..."

"I am sorry", the blue knight replied. He thrust down, entering the man's heart too quickly to catch his blessing on the way to the next world.

* * *

It was Eskerbae who did it, who made Destin Faroda stop and call a meeting of division leaders at the latest city the rebellion had liberated in their drive along the narrow vale that split Diaspola in two.

A figure infamous enough to be known by a number of his people including Ordas and the mercenary Lyon, Eskerbae had been a particularly troublesome Hill Giant who terrorized the snowfields of the Kalbi Penninsula before the Empire had finally caught up to him and his band. His blue skin was an ample confirmation of his homeland's tales of abominable cold, as was the freezing breath he unleashed before Mischa had finally brought him down with a blast of fire under Gilbert's guidance. Knowing from the start that Ice Giants were hardly rank-and-file for the Empire, Destin convened with his division leaders late afternoon, in the Shrine city of Rimorge.

Ignoring the strange looks the place's inmates were giving them, he examined the range of exotic wounds they'd picked up in getting this far into the Empire's prison district. He'd personally picked up a new scar along his left tendon from a worgen commanded by an enemy Beast Lord. Once they'd all settled, he strode over to where Gilbert was seated, tending Ruclomb's own stitches with one hand and holding his pipe with the other. "An Imp, sir Oblion?"

"An Imp, sire", he nodded, taking one puff. "I didn't see him, but rumour has it there's a _Goetia_ user- a demon summoner- among the enemy ranks. Not quite at Kapella's level, but a problem for us all the same."

"And more ice injuries here", he observed of Valerin Ashe to his left, where lethal-looking frost had corroded much of the metal of his armour, which would need to be replaced soon. "Another Ice Giant?"

"A Silver Dragon's breath", Ashe corrected him, repressing a shiver as he touched the iced-over portion. The bonfire did nothing to salve such a chill. "The most reasonable of the dragonkin, and the most at home in the cold. Very popular in the Empire, even more so than the Black and Red broods. You can see why."

"Strong foes", he noted calmly. "Such a diverse range you wouldn't find in an organized army... other than us anyway. Eskerbae was locked up in the fortress, until now. I might guess the same for the demon summoner, and that samurai guy who covered Rhea's retreat. I think that the Empire is trying to beat us to the punch."

"But why?", Harrison Ordas asked in confusion. "The Empire locked them up in here to begin with! Why would they help them now?"

"Promises, promises", Selec Fubuki mused darkly, the easterner polishing his newly-forged blade in hopes of soon unleashing it on the new foes they faced. "Promise them Goth, promise them an early parole, promise them a chance to work off their frustration of being chained up here with nothing to do for years, and suddenly you have a highly-motivated, highly diverse and experienced fighting force. Just what _we_ wanted to recruit. Damn them."

"There is a method to the madness, sir Destin", Ashe followed up. "The first wave was Imperial standard, but after that we've been fighting people and beasts of various races and skill levels with no uniform tactics. The prisoners. Crude, yet effective. Still, we know the Empire's got more of their own people in reserve. They couldn't be so foolish as to expect this to stop us. Not after what happened at the capital. Where are they, then?"

Letting the rest mull that over, Destin's eyes drifted across Canopus and Lans and he nearly flinched. Neither one looked happy and they hadn't spoken a word to him since shorefall. Strangely, Captain Ashe remained a pillar of helpfulness and advice despite being of the same livery as his old subordinate. Mayhap he was too old to care about unorthodox methods- he certainly hadn't protested the assassination of the Mermaid Queen.

"And what of the enemy governor?", mage Tsuno broke the ice thoughtfully, thinking of the Malanian merchant who normally ran the floating prison. There was another who seemed too forcefully-cheerful for the circumstances. "I had heard he had abdicated his position when he learned of the attack. How is it that they're able to coordinate? I doubt Rhea Luvalon could manage an entire squad like this."

"Someone new, then", Destin said. "Someone more experienced, who knows Diaspola well." It was true- they'd been ambushed at every turn coming down the vale, each attack wearing away at their precious reserves until they would be too weak to engage whatever commander was waiting for them in the castle to the northwest. If this 'someone' was another Deva they were in trouble.

"I'd heard rumours in Romorantan after we liberated it", Ordas replied, taking a moment to acknowledge the chorus of groans elicited by yet _another_ sketchy rumour coming from his mouth. "Rumours that Norn Dias has taken command here. It would explain how she knows the terrain so well, and why so many of the prisoners here are taking her side, in addition to what Selec said."

"Impossible!", Aisha cut in, clearly shocked at such an idea. "I grew up with Norn in the convent. She's the youngest daughter of one of the merchant lords of Malano. Her people- her father- might have knuckled under... but she's no Imperial pawn. She _hates_ the Empire's excesses. She's even badmouthed Sage Rashidi on occasion. She should be on our side."

"Well. Whoever is directing them now", Destin concluded briskly, "we need insurance against further ambushes in the west. Gilbert, I'm going to require you, Lyon and Canopus to fly cover, feeding updates to the main body every twenty minutes or so, rotating. Thus far, they've been short on fliers... but big on archers and Hill Giants. Watch your backs and don't be too proud to retreat." In just a few more hours, the city's temple would be finished healing the worst of their wounds as if he'd never met Father Zalas. Thus far, fear was keeping the local priests in line, and the rebellion had only permanently lost two people- a wizard from Tsuno's lot and Gati, Lans' assigned Shaman. As usual, they were killing far more than they lost.

He could only hope their luck would hold out, and that the colourful denizens of Diaspola would not all be dead by the time they were done. After all, he remembered with a sad smile, this was only the tip of a very large iceberg called the kingdom of Malano, and only the first shaky step onto a brand new continent, one so full of new dangers as to make their own homeland look tame.

* * *

Ara Kestler digested her orders in silence, giving no hint of the fluttering in her stomach that threatened to ruin everything. None of the division leaders gave her any indication of suspicion as Captain Ashe's newly-formed unit prepared to march, but the feeling persisted. Idly, she wondered how the professional spies did it without going mad. On both sides, ragged merchants tried her patience with bizarre offers such as pearls or beehives, irking her further.

It may have been that impatience which caused her to spot the figure of Destin Faroda as he made his own way over to where Lyon had been waiting for him. Following him into a rented stable, she saw that both the Dragons the Beast Lord had tamed looked ill despite, like herself, avoiding any serious wounds in the previous encounters. They lay motionless in separate massive beds of hay, their scales discoloured and only occasionally grunting to show they still lived.

"It's their time, boss", Lyon could be heard saying even through the door, his lack of volume control a boon to her. "When all the dragonkin reach a certain age, their bodies will change to become one of the three broods, all of which I believe you've seen by now."

"Black, red, silver.", Destin elaborated, quieter but still legible if she kept her ear plant to the door. "Why now?"

Lyon sounded apologetic for once. "I knew this was coming in the next few months or so, just didn't think it would go this soon. Mebbe all the fighting accelerated the change. Either way, their character determines which brood they'll become. We'll know soon enough, but until then..."

"It would be seen as a bad omen, then", the rebel leader suggested amicably, "for them to become a Black Dragons?"

Lyon chuckled raspily. "Never, boss. Chamise and Quenaya are as nice as Dragons come. Give 'em a day, and they'll be ready."

"I don't have a day, Lyon. I must travel to Pelegue, and quickly. I need a fast mount."

She flinched away in confusion, wondering if she'd heard him right. Pelegue was a trade city located in Diaspola's northwestern vale, a good ways away from any targets of military significance. Why would the rebel leader need to travel there now, of all times?

"Sorry boss", Lyon's reply came to her, uncharacteristically downhearted. "The transformation takes at least a day. We won't be able to bring 'em with us to the fortress, though I'll certainly be comin'. Why Pelegue?"

"That's none of your concern. It's a small errand, nothing you need worry about- I'll rejoin you for the final assault.. But it must be done today. And if you cannot provide, then I suppose I shall have to ask Gilbert for Mischa. She must be getting awfully tired of being used as a flying taxi, but there is no other choice."

"What abou' that griffin, Halcygos?"

A stretch of silence followed, and Ara wondered if she'd been noticed. "Canopus is in a bad mood for the moment, I'd rather not undermine his command yet. Gilbert will understand. But as for your own beasts... You're _certain_ neither of them will become Black dragons?"

A dismissive snort from the Beast Lord. "On my life, boss."

"No", the younger man said without any hint of threat. "On theirs." No response from Lyon seemed forthcoming, so Ara ducked out, pretending to have been considering entering a nearby alchemist's shop as she left the stable, waiting until the rebel leader had most certainly departed.

Her heart raced. Canopus. She had to find Canopus, talk to the bird man and convince him to let her borrow Halcygos. She wasn't about to blow a chance like this one. It would help that she was part of Gilbert's division, for they were longtime friends.

Either way, it didn't matter. Luck was luck, and Freya strike her down if she wouldn't take advantage of this out of some misplaced fear of the Wind Rider. In all likelyhood, Destin hadn't even recognized her as the one he'd saved from death in Sharom. The Valkyrie wasn't much for poetry, but could tell it would be fitting in some way for him to realize that moments before he knew his own.

* * *

When his division reached the west mountain gate which led out of Diaspola, Harrison Ordas let his men take five before attacking the small garrison which prevented anyone from leaving by foot. It had never been exactly easy for him to assume command of such a group in their leader's absence, for despite being second-in-command he was younger still than Destin and showed his inexperience more prominently, thought of more as a walking rumour mill than a warrior. His six kills and counting were as nothing next to some of the older fighters marching beside him, and he figured the best way to deflect their animosity was through kindness. As for practical effect...

Sara Ellgwyr patted him on the shoulder, cementing his conviction that he had been right to wait. "Yeh lead well", she encouraged him with the usual burr of her 'people'. "Destin could do no better."

"Destin wouldn't have waited", the young knight admitted shyly. "He would've struck hard and fast as lightning, giving the enemy no time to prepare for us."

"Or mebbe just used his _Phantom_ to clear out the gate, no?", the Shaman asked disdainfully, nodding towards the dozen Imperial troops who would have had their souls ripped out in this imaginary scenario. "Course, he'd have always had a reason to. Just like he's got a reason not teh be here now. No one knows where he is, else they're not tellin'."

Ordas could think of nothing to say in reply, having a sense of where Sara was going but not yet willing to give it voice. Exasperated with his lack of confidence, she rapped the floor with her ankh, staring down at the dust it had kicked up. "'S all gone wrong, hasn't it? Everyone's thinkin', I'm jus' sayin'."

Scarcely believing what he heard, he shook his head. "What do you mean?"

Her annoyance given way to a cool patience, she motioned one hand to the campsite before them, where many men were sharpening and polishing their weapons in preparation for the battle ahead. "We've been sent in teh kill the guards of the mountain gate into Malano. Without our fearless leader, I might add. Now why would we need teh open the mountain gate_ before_ attackin' Fort Diaspola? An' think before y'answer."

He _did _think. He didn't like the conclusions he drew but it was clear it was what she wanted him to say. "The criminals are fighting us to gain their freedom. If we bust down the main gate..."

"Then the Empire'll have no hold over 'em", she finished. "They'll run out into Malano, bent on causin' all sorts of trouble. No one can stop 'em. More trouble for the Empire, and we don't have to fight 'em any more."

"Sounds good", he said. Then, upon seeing the anger on her round face, he reconsidered. "What's the problem."

"Problem is, we're settin' hardened criminals loose on the innocent folk of Malano", she said gravely. "Just 'cause it's convenient for us. I know some of 'em are just there as political prisoners, but a lot of 'em, like Eskerbae an' that Beast Lord Rhade, really should've been locked up in here 'til the Thirteenth carried 'em off. Rhade's a beast 'imself. Kills folks for sport he does, feeds 'em to his worgen. Jus' as bad as Sirius an' a potty mouth teh boot."

"We have no choice", Ordas insisted. "It's this or kill them ourselves."

"An' that's a great comfort to the folks they're gonna kill and abuse while we're off fighting Empire, that is", Sara countered, no longer witholding her disgust of the task at hand. "S' not like Zeteginea or Deneuve. Most Malanians are cream puffs outside a' the assassin's guilds. They won't know how to defend themselves. This ain't right, man."

"Been talking with Father Zalas' faction, have you?", he asked stuffily, remembering his friend's original allegiance, despite how much the country girl she was ordinarily.

"Just me own heart", Sara corrected him, drawing closer so only he would hear. Some of the other fighters here would not take kindly to such dissension. There was one young wizard here, Nybbas, who had claimed completely without irony that "Destiny's Child will lead us into a golden future".

"Look around yeh. It's not right. Destin... He's changin'. The _Phantom_ just the most obvious sign, bein' a spell of the Black Knights an' all. You should know, 'less you like having a leader who sucks out folks' souls in battle."

Ordas echoed the earlier groan, seeing recognition of his unwelcome past in her, and how it was that his bloodline had been decreed noble by King Gran. "My Grandfather, the High Lord Cadwy of house Ordas... Gramps never liked talking about his days hunting the Black Knights", he maintained. "Never shared much of anything about them, really. Probably out of the fear that some _pesh'yk_ might overhear him and decide it sounded like a fine career."

"Hard to believe anyone would call that a fine career", Sara said, trying desperately to lighten the mood as they drew closer to the garrison fortress. "Wake up. Put on stuffy-hot black armour. Kill some folks. Breakfast. Kill some more folks. Torture some other folks. Burn a village an' laugh like a bloody maniac. Lunch."

"It's the power which lures in people who are strong for evil", he explained, remembering the words of his elder well. "The power of the Dark. Gramps told me that much at least. Not his favorite subject."

"An' now Destin's got that power", she replied glumly. "I've got word from the Order of Roshian, told me to ditch yeh an' return to Avalon with the rest of the Shaman."

Harrison went very still. What was her game? Did she really believe in it? "And? Why are you still here then, when by your own reckoning, our dear leader is sliding down into the Dark faster than a greased griffin?"

"Because", she said uneasily. "I was hopin' to bring yeh with me."

He froze, and in fact several of the other men looked up to ensure someone hadn't used a stunning spell on him. "I... I am honoured", he said more quietly. "I didn't mean- I've always wanted to be with someone... someone who would help me understand what it was to be noble. But Sara... I cannot. I swore on my parent's grave that I'd slay, or at least play a part in, the death of the last of the Black Knights. Like Miss Aisha, I am bound by family honour. I cannot leave until the Highland Prince is dead."

"You're 'fraid of him", she accused after a moment's pause. "Aren't yeh?"

"There is ample cause to fear prince Gares, milady."

"I wasn't talking about _Gares_", she snapped back, a light breeze making her pea green robes seem larger than usual. "Everyone knows about Blaine Diwrnach now. Yeah, the bastard might've deserved it, who are we to judge? But killin' him in secret like he did, makes folks come to their own conclusions about things."

"Look", Ordas said sympathetically, not wishing to reject his friend nor his lord. "Whatever his personal problems are, he's ten times the man of any leader in the Empire. He's our only hope."

"They say it's unnatural, y'know. They say he can read people's thoughts."

"They say a great deal", he grumbled, tiring of this game. "I for one would be grateful for a leader with such abilities- it's the only way we'll survive the next few weeks of battle so close to Fort Allamoot." Seeing the others becoming anxious, he now grasped their healer closely, locking eyes as he'd seen Destin do so often, speaking softly for her alone.

"Whatever the case, I need to know I can count on your loyalty, Sara Ellgwyr. Same for all of our Shaman. If the choice should come down to Lord Destin or the Order of Roshian, well... I hope you'll remember who liberated Zenobia from evil's grasp. We all owe him our lives and more."

Her jaw fell. "Mebbe. Like I said, just sayin' what everyone's thinkin'. We owe him so much, then mebbe we owe it to him to say when he's crossed the line. Gods know Lans and Canopus don' talk to him any more."

Ordas nodded, double-checking his armour's seals and looking back at the gate's garrison, his words now intended for everyone's ears. "We shall. If anyone is yet close enough to Lord Destin, if there is anyone whom he listens to any more, it is _us._ His own personal division... and his closest friends. That, I believe, is why he would saddle us with this most controversial of duties. He knows he can trust us to do it properly. Now, let us get to destroying that garrison."

So they did.

* * *

As could only be expected of an isolated prison colony, the mountain passages and cliffs became more and more treacherous as Destin Faroda drew closer to his goal in the far-off city of Pelegue. When a chill wind in the air became a dampening mist, and the inconvenience of rock-strewn trails graduated into real danger for those who travelled them out of the 'bowl', he had to take a moment and wonder if perhaps he'd gotten it wrong.

The path was laid out before him, the invisible guideposts more obvious than ever now that he knew of them. A need to destroy Diaspola's mountain gate, and allow countless criminals loose on Malano so that they would not interfere when the time came to take the fortress, the heart of the Empire's power in the region. One way or another, it always came down to a showdown with the 'Alpha', the regional governor or a considerably stronger substitute. Now that they had truly left their homeland behind, it would not be pessimistic to assume that every leader could be as lethal as Gares.

It truly was a different land, he noted sadly, sniffing the mountain air and finding it cold and bitter. Malano and Deneuve both possessed their own climates which had created the cultures which now dwelled upon them, with the former compensating for its diverse forms of natural resources and large size with an emphasis on trade. Several parts of it were in fact so cold as to be covered in snow year-round, which reportedly was the state of all the Empire's original lands. _No wonder they wanted to take other kingdoms_, he shivered, gazing into Brunhild. The damp cold had become only _just_ bearable for those used to Zenobian climes.

"Des-tin..." The breeze had shifted, suddenly bringing the wailing voice within his range where it had previously been only a whisper. "Ha-ha-Des-tin... Fah-ro-daaaa..."

Out came Kalanbolg, two blades at the ready position. "Show yourself! Friend or foe?"

"Des-tin... Ha ha... Fah-ro-daaaa...", the empty voice drew closer, it's owner stepping out from behind one of the many rocks. "I invite you to Hell."

Kaus Debonair stood before him, his skin and armour a ghostly pale blue, his long hair wild and unkempt. The same long sword which had given him so many injuries at Zenobia stood at the ready, and long-buried impulses set his legs quivering and aching. _Debonair here? Now?_

"I've been looking for you", the _Eins-_Deva spoke in the same hollow voice that suggested either trauma or the state of undeath- though his rough Highland accent remained the same as before. His eyes shone a strange red in the mist set above a wide grin. "Blessed be the dark powers beyond the world of man, for they have granted me my final wish- to crawl from the underworld, and drag you down unto the realm of the Ogres, to burn alongside me, FOREVER!"

"You...?", the rebel leader paled in turn, on guard but unsure of what he faced. "You're dead?"

"I AM dead... Because of YOU!", Debonair rasped angrily. "My best friend mourns and my lover weeps. Now pay the price for your crimes against them!"

He didn't have long to ponder that claim before the general lunged, his sword flashing out with the same dreadful speed and precision he remembered from their last battle. "DIE!"

Thankfully, he'd come a long way since that fiasco. Brunhild met the rushing slash with flawless grace, and the more familiar Kalanbolg beat back the general's guard. Remembering well Debonair's tendency to use his unencumbered mail fist to attack a foe as much as his legs, Destin slid to one side whenever a parry was held longer than one breath... and _still_ nearly had his collarbone caved in when the man's fist arced around to try and grasp his neck. When a leg came up to try and break his groin, the immortal Brunhild was ready to force it back down.

Without any signal, both flew apart to plan the next attack, and Destin knew the frown creeping onto his face to be not one of distaste towards the vengeful Kaus Debonair, but something else. Keeping both blades ready, he faced his old nemesis once more. "You've got it wrong, Kaus. I didn't kill you! We let you escape the battle, and live to understand why we fight!"

"LIES!", Debonair screeched, driving him back with a fresh barrage of angled strikes. "You cling to your fabrications and claim innocence in my murder?"

Thirty more seconds, and he could place what felt so off about it. Certainly, one might expect a vengeful spirit to fight a mote differently than they would in life, but the fact remained that Destin had already met a number of spirits from beyond the range of mortal life, and _this_ one did not look or behave like any he had seen before...

This one...

This one didn't even behave like Debonair, in fact. Debonair had never been so wild or careless with his attacks, constantly pressuring his target into dodging back towards the vale where he'd tied Mischa. One spinning cut came within inches of his head, but when he put his deep-seated fear of the Deva aside the growing analytical portion took over, allowing him to dance around every strike until the proper opening presented itself.

Lunging forward as if to parry with Kalanbolg, he brought Brunhild across empty air into a small bit of rock, kicking up a cloud of dust that left both men blinded and coughing. Better prepared for it, Destin rolled away from any reprisal and watched closely.

Sure enough, 'Debonair' could not resist pawing at his eyes with his free hand to clear away the grit, and his sweaty hand brought away the ghastly blue tinge of his skin along with it, leaving a smear of subdued pink along the left cheek. "_Verdamnt!"_

"For a ghost that crawled out of Hell for revenge", he observed dryly, withholding a smouldering fury at how he'd been played. "You seem to have a problem with dust getting in your eyes. And a potty mouth. Is that _blue hair dye_, charlatan?"

The man visibly seethed, but could not maintain the illusion no matter what he said. Instead, he laughed harshly; one more thing that Kaus Debonair never did. He dropped the ghost impression as well. "...Huh. Hehehahah. You really are something, Destin Faroda. I thought for sure I had you there."

"You _are_ the only one who might have been able to", Destin admitted, sizing the impostor up and seeing more differences the closer he looked at his face and frame. "It's uncanny, really. You look so much like him... and yet, you are not him. You're different. More fit."

"Such is expected of all the Empire's 4 Deva", the man said once he'd finished wiping the blue powder from his face, this time speaking in a voice that held the same accent but little of Debonair's stiffness or courtesy. He sounded less patient by far, crude and brash in place of Kaus' overactive formality. "We're trained from childhood to become living weapons, the ultimate symbols of the Empire's power. I'm the _Zwei_ Deva. General Rowdain Figaro, come to Malano to put an end to the ridiculous myth the people call 'Destiny's Child'."

"Rowdain Figaro", he repeated in dismay. "I had heard you were at the Kalbi Penninsula."

Figaro grinned fiercely, more animated than his look-alike by far. Closer to Destin's age by the look of him, with tan hair instead of straight up blond like Debonair's. "Oh, I was. That's where the 11th legion_- my_ legion- has been stationed. But I'm not a patient man, Faroda. I wanted to find you here first, if possible. See for myself the strength which _killed my best friend_." He spat out the last few words in a way that discounted all possibility of falsehoods.

"You are misinformed", Destin replied. He could feel the mist thickening around them, as though the Gods expected the coming duel as they circled. "I fought Kaus Debonair, true, but I did not kill him. I was in no condition to. He escaped."

Figaro considered that a moment, but did not lower his sword. "It figures you would try to lie now that you've seen my power firsthand. But either way, I'll not be denied my chance at you! Come and face me!"

"_Someone's_ impatient to die", he quipped. Inside however, he felt his heart freezing into a crystal. The dark power which Rashidi had unleashed within him made him very strong. Brunhild's power was with him and his training had made him much faster since the battle at the capital.

But any lingering notions of an easy victory were dashed the moment that Figaro's thin blade first lashed out to impact on Kalanbolg, releasing a massive cloud of sparks and causing him to fly backwards to slam into the rock face ten feet behind him, leaving an indentation behind. He barely recovered from that in time to roll out of the way of the follow-up slice, leaving behind a fissure which split the entire rock face into two chunks.

"Ha! Pathetic!", Figaro screeched at him, grinning madly as he dodged bone-breaking strikes by the narrowest of margins again and again. "_This_ is the man whom the Sage is so afraid of? Come on, Faroda! Fight back! C'mon! C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, C'MON!"

He dared not oblige such a demand. Every strike seemed to bear with it twice the weight of Debonair's sword, and each was angled in large arcs that kept him at double arm's length. Finally, after more close calls than he would ever wish to remember, he managed to get enough open space between them to focus his mind. "Perhaps this will be better?"

Selec Fubuki had warned him against it in their gruelling practice sessions, of course. Only through years of mental discipline could the Samurai of Denueve perfect their spirit technique, the 'Iainuki', and execute it reliably and powerfully. All the same, Destin was disappointed when only a brief spurt of the blue fire sped outward from Brunhild as he slashed it downward, dying out several feet away from him as though doused in invisible water. "Stang."

Figaro looked at him, not sure whether to be pitying or mocking. "Heh. That's just sad, Faroda. I've seen soldiers half your age perform more powerful spirit techniques. After that pathetic display, I'll do you a favour, and not use _mine_... It would kill youway too fast. And what fun would that be?"

"It is a work in progress", Destin admitted, now gathering the old sensation of hatred in his heart, letting it rise to the forefront until it felt ready to burst from his chest. "Have this, then. _Phantom!_"

The ethereal, golden horrors burst forth once more, fuelled by negativity so great it made him dizzy. Assailed on all sides, Figaro leaped back across the vale to escape, taking several nips from hungry spirits, encouraging Destin to push it further. Had the Deva not swept his blade about in a wide arc of blue light that somehow dispelled the swarm, he might yet have died from it.

"That", Figaro said dully, without a trace of his original eagerness to fight. "Hurt. I didn't figure you for a wizard, Faroda. That's quite the trick. But if that's all you've got, then I'll end it here."

Desperate, his mind strained further, trying to project every ounce of the hate which fed the spell. But now Destin's own body felt burnt-out and weary, unable to call upon the power again without resting first no matter how much hate he summoned. Figaro did not wait, regaining their distance before cutting across horizontally,a single swing cleaving a half-foot furrow all along the red armour's chest plate and knocking it's wearer down into the dirt, sparks and all.

"Thought so", he said with a satisfied smile, hefting his blade overhead for the finale as his prey lay helpless. "That_ was_ your best. You don't have enough strength left to generate another one of those. A good shot, I'll admit... but I didn't exactly get to be the 2nd Deva by sitting on my ass all day. Goodbye, Faroda."

_No. Not like this... Not like this... Mischa_. His mind screamed out, as if trying to reach the creature by volume alone. If he could just stand up, just roll down the vale a little further, Mischa could save him. The Wyrm would be no match for Figaro, but it might buy him the time he needed to get away.

Too late, the general swung, a line of death descending to strike-

To strike a Valkyrie's lance, sliding off to cut the dirt inches to the left of his head. A lance which buckled, but withstood the force before knocking it away entirely. Ara Kestler stood beside him, already panting deeply but looking determined.

Thankfully, Figaro didn't seem to be in a hurry to continue. He lept clear, sizing the Valkyrie up before pointing with his sword. "One of ours, huh? Guess you have that effect on people, Faroda."

Unable to stand, he simply gave a dry chuckle. "It's called compassion, general. You should try it sometime."

"Been there. Done that. Not my thing", the Deva grinned lopsided at Ara, trying in vain to provoke her. "I'm a weapon, Faroda. Compassion just means you've got a few dull edges on you. 'Mercy is a weakness', remember the Valkyrie's code, dear?"

"I remember", Ara stammered. "Ten thousand words forbidding any quarter on the battlefield or off it. But... that doesn't make them right."

Figaro snorted. Her words sounded uncertain even to Destin's ears. _"Shifochen di algallaten. _You're no Valkyrie. Just some waif pretending to be one. I suppose that's the best the rebellion can manage with a bunch of pansy-ass Zenobians."

Scowling, Ara shot a lightning bolt forward which Figaro's sword deflected casually. "Maybe this isn't the time to settle things after all, Faroda." Hearing a screech and seeing the approaching figure of the griffin Halcygos, he grimaced. "Scratch maybe." Shooting forward, he struck Ara back, leaving to lie against the same large rock as Destin, leaving a similar indentation.

"Rest for now, then", he said, leaping back to dodge the griffin's first power dive. "Recuperate from this loss, get your strength back. We'll settle things where I told the Empress I would- at Kalbi Penninsula. Just keep in mind Faroda... Next time, I won't be using my left hand."

With that threat he departed, but neither of them could move for several moments. "Why", Ara whispered, sounding broken. "Why did I do that?"

"I'm...", Destin coughed. "I'm grateful to the reason, once you find it. So you do speak Zenobian after all."

"No, you don't understand", she stood, facing him. "I came here... I came here to-"

"Kill me?" The rebel managed a drunken smile, hanging there with broken armour. "Is that why you followed me?"

She bore the lance now, holding the tip mere feet away from his heart. "I came here to_ finish_ you. To end the chaos. When you die, your destructive rebellion dies with you. I should have just let Figaro do it, but now... I can make up for my mistake."

"So you _are_ a trained Valkyrie", he observed, oddly calm. "Not an archer. I was wondering with the way you fought at Sharom."

"Ara Kestler, 2nd Rank _Einjerhar_, 5thLegion", she elaborated icily.

"Yet you were retired under an assumed name, in a sleepy farm district as far removed from the Lodis front as one can get?"

"I'd had enough of the violence", she admitted, the lance not moving. "Sure I was good at it, but it didn't make it any easier to look at myself in the mirror." The lance advanced slowly, but she cursed more with each inch. "Damn it! Why? Why can't I do this? Is it-" She broke off, glaring into his eyes. "It's YOU. You're doing something, some kind of charm magic!"

Destin laughed. "Did you hear me speak incantations? Did you see me make gestures or sacrifice anything to the_ Bretnach Nabor_? I'm no magician, miss."

"It's passive, then. People blab about how Selec Fubuki had you beaten in a duel, ready to kill you and become the new leader... and instead he stayed his hand."

"Not quite how it happened, but you get the idea", he said. "Now you know what it's like to do things without realizing why you're doing them." He studied the lance. "Or in your case, _not_ doing something, even while your mind screams at you to finish it."

Ara collapsed, fully aware now of the power which guarded him. She had a feeling it was stronger than she was. "How? Explain!"

"I spared you that day", he explained. "I didn't even know myself why I did it. I sure didn't save anyone else at Sharom. Just... something told me to do it. Now I know why- 'good fortune'. So you could save me here. So the rebellion would gain the power of Valkyries, formerly exclusive to the Empire."

"But I didn't want to", she protested. "You're the Chaos-bringer! You're the enemy of my homeland! You have to die! I have to kill you!"

At once he looked very sad, tiredly prying himself away from the rock face and picking up Kalanbolg. "Welcome to my world, miss Ara Kestler, 2nd Rank Einjerhar of the 5th Legion. The Twenty-Two Gods protect their chosen pawn by forcing it onto the right course, whether I like it or not. Case in point- why did I fly all the way out here in the first place, alone and vulnerable? Because I got the gut feeling that I _should_. Now, I know half the reason why I was 'summoned' out here."

Scarcely comprehending his words but too frightened to act or even speak, she looked up at him, the unspoken question obvious. _Why?_

"So that I would gain your true allegiance, your belief, whether you liked it or not. Who would believe you loyal to the Empire now, now that you've saved me from death? There is no way back for you. What lie could convince your fellow spies that I was somehow able to survive not only Figaro but _you_ attacking me while I was alone?" Recovered enough to walk now, he knelt down, offering the hand that was not bleeding from a cut. "Come with me, soldier. Let us find out what the second half of the reason is."

Impossible. This wasn't possible. Yet here it was. Every syllable he said was true. Ara had felt the effects of the mind-controlling variants of Karmatic magicks before, smelt the powder of Zeichten herbs, had even felt the effects of passionate love for a man... and this was none of those things. "You knew? You _knew_ the whole time?"

"I did not", he said, maddeningly calm. "I only had suspicions. Gilbert does not know that you are a spy and I shall not tell him. You are welcome to return to his division if you wish, though I had planned to give you your own division after this, so that we might train more of our own Valkyries at the hands of a master."

The compliment didn't register. She stood, distracted only by Halcygos trying to nuzzle her out of her stupor with affectionate prods of its yellow beak. "He likes you", Destin observed, again feeling the exact right words pop into his head. Again. First Canopus, now her. They had been doing that an awful lot lately but he did not fight them.

"Ara Kestler. If the revolution succeeds, if we win... then I want to build a peaceful kingdom out of the chaos. My special power... it won't mean a damned thing if we can't at least accomplish that. Come. This is where you belong."

* * *

Captain Rhea Luvalon had waged her war well. The narrow passageway of rock which divided Diaspola in two necessitated that the rebels' land-bound divisions exit at a specific point near the city of Somyul south of Diaspola fortress.

Once there, they faced a return to the Imperial standard; large numbers of Valkyrie and flying mounts performing hit-and-run attacks, only punctuated by the occasional Beast Tamer and his pets. By the time they had cut and run, looking around at the faces of his allies was enough to tell Valerin Ashe that many of their divisions would not be going any further even after eating and resting.

"Miss Aisha", he pointed out to Lans as they surveyed the damages both to their people and the city. "Neralai and the undead division, Canopus' fliers, and our own group. That's all."

"That's all?" His friend looked understandably worried.

"That's all", he affirmed. "Everyone else here is too shot up to continue, though of course Fubuki and Lyon will both deny it to their deathbeds. If you have the time, you might be able to cobble together a fifth one from the survivors of the other groups, but we have to go now. _ Before_ Rhea finishes setting up her defences at the castle."

Others might have disagreed, but Lans recognized the voice of experience. Others before them would hide their injuries, changing their clothes or claiming 'it looks worse than it is' in order to continue forward with the main group and finish what they had started. Had they always been like that? Had his own knights, loyal to the cause as they were, demonstrated this level of devotion, or was there something else at work here?

Ashe must have seen him frowning, for he clapped one mailed hand to his friends' shoulder. "Hey, don't worry. Norn Dias might be well-loved here, but she's still a princess. This isn't going to be a repeat of Avalon, my friend. It should be enough, unless the Empire's been holding back a good number of divisions in reserve."

"Not that", he said. "You've heard of the conflict with the Order of Roshian?"

"Of course", Ashe scratched his white beard. "High Monk Zalas threatened to stop giving us healing, and have their missionaries start decrying Destin in town square instead of praising him. They must think the people of Malano and Zenobia to be brainless sheep if they think they'll accept such reversal of opinion."

"They're not far wrong", Lans maintained. "The Order has been looked upon as the last bastion of Zenobian rights and freedoms for decades. Their word still carries a great deal of weight outside Zeteginea."

"The word of a united Order, yes", Ashe corrected as they passed a group of rebel shaman helping salvage whoever they could. "Zalas does not represent all. Destin was wise indeed to create a political alternative."

"You approve of that?", he nearly shrieked, drawing a number of stares. "You would let him appoint Aisha Forris the new head of the church? He doesn't need any more power!"

It was Ashe's turn to look surprised, though he expressed it with much less volume. "I'm surprised at you, Lancelot. He's your best friend, is he not? He's certainly promised enough times to give up his power when the war is over."

"Promises, promises", he echoed Fubuki's dismissal. "I merely hope that we find Prince Tristoram soon. This is getting out of control- even you side with him now."

But Ashe merely chuckled and shook his head in wry amusement. "Still the same stiff I knew from the royal knights, aren't you? You still think in black and white terms. I was locked up in the most dreadfully boring prison in the world for twenty years, and I still changed more than you have, Lancelot. Still so cold and rigid, afraid to enjoy yourself even a little bit. You should try it. Does wonders for the back, and believe me this old man knows a thing or two about back pain."

"T'is Lans", his friend muttered, hand instinctively drifting down to the pouch at his waist. "And Laura's gift helps me to relax when I am agitated. Though now, I am not certain even that would be enough."

"Tell you what", the ex-captain offered. "In about an hour, we'll head down to this place I know here in Somyul, great food, great service. We'll get some liquid courage into you, and you can tell me all your problems, at length."

"An hour", Lans repeated, surprised Ashe hadn't forced such an undertaking on him right off. It was the favourite solution of fully half the rebellion's men, particularly the veterans. "Why an hour? Should we not prepare to set out for Diaspola fortress soon?"

Again Ashe smirked, making Lans feel foolish before saying a word. "My estimate might be a little off either way. We'll see. But as for the battle, my friend... it's coming to us. Can't you feel it?"

He would have said no, but before he could open his mouth he didn't need to 'feel' it. His eyes could make out the rumbling, and the house-sized mass slowly growing to the north, well enough. "Rally the Wind Rider and sir Tomas", Ashe commanded. "We'll want to get clear of this city before the heavy slugging starts."

Lans did not move, frozen to the spot by the sight against all his training. The mass wasn't house-sized. It was bigger by far, a humanoid of bronze skin and hides that quaked the earth with each step. "A Titan", he finally remembered the image from Warren's library. "The most powerful breed of Hill Giant in the known world. I'd heard they were extinct."

Then, as if in mocking counterpoint, a second rhythm of stomping began to rattle his teeth.

* * *

In Rauny Vinzalf's eyes, the capital city of Malano fit the country's style like a velvet glove, epitomizing the things she neither knew of nor cared to learn much about. Murals of gold lined the walls of the palace, depicting not battle but dreamy interpretations of the merchant princes who had founded the country while seeking sanctuary from the Order of the Black Knights centuries ago. Tall windows of tinted glass and wrought iron divided them, leaving no surface unadorned with the results of the region's good fortune. Down past the gates and down the hill upon which it stood one could see the obvious signs of terraforming, which surrounded the great city with healthy rivers in a great semicircle of overlapping streams, forming a maze.

More than that however, it was the way Malano's leaders displayed their rarest prizes as proof of their masculinity which turned her off of it. Merely in the room she'd been assigned to, there was a statue of a beautiful princess wearing a shining tiara of gold, her lips serene and her gaze blank. That was nothing compared to the paintings outside in the hall, or the massive crystal sculpture depicting the Ogre Battle in the lobby before the throne room. The real treasures, the ones that were not expensive or beautiful looking but instead held value in their magical properties, would be kept downstairs and out of sight of the guests.

One such guest knocked on her door, and Rauny immediately had to drop her loathing of such opulence for a perky smile she'd seen permanently engraved on some of the country's duchesses. Seeing who it was, she was relieved to be able to drop it just as quickly. "Father. Did Baron Apros send you?"

Ever the metal-clad colossus, her father Hikash, the Supreme Overlord of the Empire's military, had to bend just slightly to fit through the door but still forced himself to look as pleasant as the aforementioned merchant prince, fumbling at his dirty-golden beard. "Is it that obvious, princess?"

"Enough of that", she reprimanded him once he'd stood back to his full height, a head taller than she. Despite this, she knew it was safe to scold him as much as was required to get the point across. "That's what Apros calls me, and I'm already sick of it. Call me _Rauncorintha_, father. Or Rauny."

"Very well, Rauny", he allowed, looking over her gown and into her long braided hair, blond but not the sickly white kind seen on some high Zeteginean bloodlines. "You look lovely."

She forced herself not to snarl at her father over that comment. Her wedding dress was a rosy red affair, decorated with some unsubstantiated glittery stuff that shimmered in the light as she walked. The ball gown transitioned into a corset, stretching up past her waist and chest to cover her head with an upraised white felt collar, which she had oft-wondered if a sword could damage given its resistance to being bent or removed from her head. As it was, the wretched thing was oppressively heavy, covering both sides around the back of her scalp, forcing her to look straight ahead at all times.

The style of it, the weight, the restrictions the dress placed on her movement, were all pure Malano, where apparently the grand duchesses had learned not to ever turn their heads or run or even jog. Her silk-gloved hands clenched hard. _No, no, of course not. They just have to stand around with their arms at their sides waving their cute little fans and talk about how _damned _great it is to look pretty and have a rich husband. Freya help me I should kill them all in their sleep. Wouldn't be hard and I'd be doing the world at large a favour..._

"It's... an interesting specimen, I'll give it that much."

She wasn't fooling anyone in the room. Hikash pressed both of his hands tenderly to her cupid's-bow face, holding them at her cold cheekbones before prying at the base of the collar, peeling it back with his great strength until it lay flat against the base of her neck instead, far more comfortable and roomy if still tacky-looking. "I know that you'd have preferred your battle armour for this, but this country has very different standards of dignity than us, you know that. They consider combat armour to be uncivilized."

Glad he understood that much at least and thankful to be able to see again, she tried pouting. "Father, could I not have at least worn the merchant prince outfit?" Those were baggy and colourful but at least functional. "I feel like I can barely move in this wretched thing!"

"Prince, my _Rauncorintha_", Hikash reminded her regrettably, knowing well his daughter's tomboyishness. "As in, for men only. I promise that after the wedding you can burn the dress if you want. I have had some paladin armour and tunic brought with me."

She smiled, kissed him on one meaty cheek, "You_ do _love me father. Downstairs?"

He nodded. "In the wardrobe in the east wing, amongst the Baron's garments. But only after the marriage is over, remember."

Of course. It all came back to the marriage, this marriage which she'd protested every step of the way until even her father had become angry with her stubbornness once or twice. Again anticipating her final plea, Hikash cradled her head in one hand and stared hard into her icy blue eyes, the complete opposite of Baron Apros' habits around her. "I understand your frustration, Rauny. Truly, I do. But this union is for the good of both Malano and our home."

"Then let someone else do it", she pushed him aside glumly. "Let someone else marry that prig downstairs."

"Rauny", Hikash called sharply and she expected another lecture on the importance of political unity through arranged marriages. Instead, his voice took a more compassionate tone. "I know. I know because your mother was an arranged marriage for me."

Cursing herself inwardly for letting the mention of her mother get to her, she forced her head back up. "Mom? You mean-"

"Like you, I protested it", he continued, slow but sure. "I was a young warrior who wanted nothing more than glory and the company of my fellow paladin. Why on earth should I be engaged to someone with no combat experience? How could they ever understand _me_, as a person? Why could someone else not marry the heir of the Viscount and bring their wealth into the fold? Yet, over time, I learned that kindness and ferocity were not mutually exclusive things. At least, not for your mother."

_My mother was not a pig wearing human skin. My mother never committed half the wrongs I have witnessed Apros dirty his velvet gloves with. My mother would have stopped this. _If there were any doubts that her plan was a necessary one, they were now dispelled. "I would have preferred Prince Gares", she said. Then, upon seeing the surprise on the Overlord's face: "Oh, not as he is now, father. _Freyashalas_, no. I meant before his change. Before he became a Black Knight. Before the war."

"You were nine winters old at the time", Hikash said patiently. "And the Prince twelve. Far too young to marry, even for royalty."

"Yet you could have arranged it for the future", she reminded him. "You could have offered the Emperor such a union, submitted a contract in writing. I could have saved Prince Gares, then. I've been under my contract to marry Apros for seven years now."

"And to put it off, you disappeared into the unknown", he countered with just a hint of strain. "Don't forget that part- I certainly have not. The embarrassment, the rumours that flew about..." Seeing how he wasn't doing her any favours by bringing that up, he sighed helplessly. "I am sorry things had to turn out this way, _Rauncorintha._ But the Baron made his request perfectly clear. This time, there's no procrastinating it. Your contract shall bind our people together at a time when we require unity of purpose."

"The rebellion", she remembered, sliding back onto her bed to try and lull her father into a false sense of security. "It is true that Kasolat has fallen, father?"

"It is", Hikash confirmed. "Their leader, Destin Faroda, is a true miracle worker, to come this far with less than two hundred men, through the merfolk and district governors, and even Prince Gares himself. But fear not my daughter, for no army can strike at Malano while our army guards it."

_A shame_, she mused. _I could use a nice life-or-death struggle right about now. _"Yet, the rebellion would be fools to shore up at Diaspola. They have no choice but to move and take other provinces in Malano and Deneuve, to force you to chase them down."

"And so I shall", he agreed. "After the wedding is done, we shall crush them. There is nowhere for them to run. I have already requisitioned the 5th and 6th legions to safeguard the city during the ceremony. Previa's 10th legion as well, closer to the Tundra."

Rauny grimaced. The _Drei_-Deva might have been annoying whenever he wasn't showing disturbing amounts of bloodlust, but at the moment she could use a good joke and General Cale Previa was always chock-full of them. "Is he here now?"

"No. He said he wanted to keep an eye on Rashidi's end of things", the Overlord raised his brow right back, for once sharing her disdain of the Sage's tendency to dabble in all things mystical or ancient within the Empire. "He doesn't trust that Zenobian _haaswein_ any further than I do, and in that, I can rely on him. He's a good lad, just hard to get him to take anything seriously."

"Get him married", Rauny offered. "_That_'ll get him to take things more seriously."

Which of course brought them right back where they'd started. "It's not as though I am asking you to spend your evenings cooking for him, _Rauncorintha_. He has a hundred servants for that. Merely make the vows and wear that dress for just one day, and then if you wish it, you shall never see him again. I promise."

A promise from the Supreme Overlord was good as gold, and in that moment she deeply regretted the deception she had already set in motion. "And if Apros says otherwise?"

He scoffed. "You're a part of the Imperial army too. If your presence is requested on the front lines, then by law there is little he can do about it. We do need skilled warriors to defeat the rebels."

"A promise, then", she nodded. "Thank you, father."

Hikash smiled back warmly, giving every indication that he trusted her, for he held little talent for deception. "You've become a fine paladin as well as a beautiful and honourable woman. I am so very proud of you, Rauny, no matter what happens. Remember that."

She waited after he left her room, having little to do but interested in taking in one last look at the palace's beauty no matter how ostentatious she found it. Minutes after, her confidant arrived, a servant like all the rest in all aspects save one; she was from Xanadu, and thus more loyal to Imperial nobles than Apros. More loyal to Rauny than the Overlord. "I saw your father walking out, mistress Vinzalf", Sherry noted once she'd closed the door tight. "He looked quite pleased. Are we... are we still 'on'?"

She studied the mirror as if expecting something to jump out at them. This would break her father's heart once he learned the truth... but she could not stay the course he and Apros had outlined for her. To do so would be to cling to her own comforts at the expense of everyone she'd ever seen trampled beneath Zeteginea's boot. Having been a career soldier since long before she was born, he would never understand.

"We're on, Sherry", she replied. "You have the items?"

"Yes, mistress. Here." Though they had most of the things they would need on their person, Sherry's dragon-skin pouch contained everything required to make the disguise complete. A pair of flat, tiny panels that had been cut from a sapphire to make Sherry's storm-grey eyes seem bright blue like Rauny's. A bottle of dye to change her hair colour to the same as the princess'. A second bottle, this one containing some substance that Sherry preferred not to elaborate on, only divulging that when drank, it would contort one's vocal cords into the approximation of a sore throat, masking the differences between their voices.

"Make sure not to mix those two up", Rauny joked weakly once she'd placed the hated red dress beneath the change room door, receiving the servant's clothes and hood in return, pulling the latter up to obscure her features. Sherry had even taken the opportunity to dirty the white tunic further than usual, ensuring she would not stand out once outside the palace walls. "If I didn't know better, Sherry, I'd say you were going to enjoy this."

"If not for _this_", Sherry said, swigging the second bottle behind the door, "I think I very well might. Not every day that a servant becomes a princess, ay? Particularly, the Overlord's daughter. I just hope you know what you're doing, mistress."

"Me too", she quipped back. "Tristan does at any rate. And you can cut it out with the 'mistress' thing, Sher. _This_ of all things should be proof that there's little difference between noble and commoner... so long as you remember what we practised."

"Ne'er really thought of you as a true noble", Sherry admitted once they'd finished. When Rauny opened the change room door again, a perfect replica of herself curtsied to her, different only in voice, posture, and cheekbones. How she'd gotten the red disaster on faster than Rauny had donned the servant's clothes had to be a trade secret. "You don't carry y'self like they do. Less self-important swagger. Comes from being a soldier I'd think. Makes it easier on me, anyway."

"That it does", she laughed quietly. "Take care of yourself, Sher. And don't worry. My father will be furious when he finds out. He'll yell at you, even hit you, but he won't kill you. He's too kind for that. Just make sure he's the first one to discover you."

Her duplicate nodded, already trying to mentally become her role before taking the potion. Professional to the end, that was Sherry all over. All the more reason not to let her down. Poising the door open, she took a moment to go over her own practice sessions before walking purposely out into the hallway.

* * *

The two Titans, two former prisoners of Diaspola, struck the rebel lines with the force of a hurricane with a decent-sized force of Imperial troops and other prisoners close behind. Regardless of the practise most of them had against large creatures such as dragons or lesser Hill Giants, it soon became clear to the division chiefs that these two were an order of magnitude greater in size and intimidation factor.

The only silver lining, Gilbert Oblion recognized grimly from his airborne mount, was that they were staying far away from the city of Somyul, where they had left those too wounded to fight. The rest of the ground troops, however, had to be reconsidering their status.

"Down there", he called to Canopus once he'd gotten close enough to be heard, pocketing his pipe. "Look who's in charge of them."

Canopus looked down. It was indeed a hard thing to see with all the dust and debris the two giants were kicking up, but the bird man's eyes did not miss the white-robed blond woman standing atop one the Titan's shoulders.

"Norn of Diaspola, I presume", the Wind Rider remarked flatly, speaking more than three words for the first time in days. "I'll take her. You rally the humans to repel. Moraine and Jumai will distract the other one long enough for you to organize."

None of them wasted time in following this plan, but Gilbert kept an eye on his friend regardless while he ordered the surviving units into a hasty battle line. Canopus was diving down just like the other hawk men, avoiding the Titan's random grabs to try and strike the girl on its shoulder. When the first attempt missed, he repeated the strike again and again until she fell from the beast's side to hit the ground.

"Lady Norn Dias", he murmured once they'd gotten close enough to make a proper engagement, Rhea's own troops rushing up to protect the merchant princess. "I had hoped to avoid this."

"I as well", she said, not bothering to brush off her robes. "I hate fighting. I hate war and chaos and swords. But neither can I undo what was done. This is the only way."

"I once believed that", he acknowledged, one hand outstretched no matter what noises of complaint came from his people. "Then Destin came and opened my eyes."

"Your Destin is a fraud", she shot back, suddenly bitter before sliding back into obvious depression. "But then, so are we. There's just no cause worth fighting for anymore. The Empire... It's not what Kaus wanted it to be... I should've departed earlier, like Rauny. But it's too late now."

Then, shocking troops on both sides, she threw aside the ankh she'd been using to heal the Titan's wounds. "Come then, tamer. Indulge your desire. Slay me. Send me to be with Kaus, before I take it upon myself to avenge his life!"

Sensing the enemy's resignation, the former governor turned back to his colleagues. "Lans' group left, sir Neralai's right", he decided without time or place for argument. "Canopus is keeping the big beasties off us for the moment but he can't last forever. I'll go up the middle with whatever remains, take Norn and Rhea down. If the Titans recover, you barricade them until I'm done."

Again, there were no complaints or questioning of the plan. Nothing like impending doom to discipline a group of halfwits, though he had to admit they were all better at following orders than they'd been during the attack on_ his_ castle. That battle seemed strangely long ago, thought it could not have been more than four months. Now, it seemed it was his turn to try and talk a sympathetic governor out of a self-destructive course.

Both groups surged forth, the Imperial divisions pinned in place by the prongs of Lans and Tomas until Gilbert's smaller bunch reached and engaged Norn's inner circle personally. Once there, he singled out not captain Rhea, dangerous though she was, but Norn.

"The Titans were freed by you", he claimed, lashing out with his whip to strike the ankh in her hand. "They listen to you! You can stop this, Norn. Stand down!"

"Their names are Hresvelgr and Ersevinh", Norn noted emotionlessly, recognizing the emphatic link that Gilbert had seen, not so unlike that of a Beast Tamer and his chosen pets. "They shall not stop until I have embraced the Thirteenth."

"Which will not happen, rebel scum", a third voice cut in, Rhea Luvalon jumping forth to drive Gilbert's weapon away from the defenceless Norn with a series of up-and-down cuts. "Not while I breathe. Fear not, lady Norn. I shall protect you."

"Damn it", Gilbert grunted in frustration, though pleased to see that some of the closest rebels were coming to his aid; a skeleton from Neralai's bunch of ghouls, and the Paladin Mildain from the left side. While the latter attacked Rhea, trying to drive her into a separate duel, Norn focused familiar holy energies on the former, turning its bones into ash with a mournful howl. "Stop it!", Gilbert commanded again. "This fight is pointless! We are not enemies!"

"End it then, lord", Norn replied, watching as Moraine finally took a lucky strike from the Titan he'd been distracting half a mile away from them. "Kill me! Hurry and kill me!"

Sensing no other alternative, he struck out with the whip again, but this time she was better prepared, rolling out of the way just in time. A stray bolt from Rhea made him wince with pain, but then healing energies from another source covered him and the gash closed, and he looked to see the latest arrival in the eye of the storm. Aisha Forris in her mauve robes, healing his injuries and looking very distraught while doing so.

"Needlenose, please", she asked. "This is totally insane."

"To you, perhaps", her fellow Shaman stared back, seeing an old friend come to greet her. "To me, it's all too clear. You don't understand. I don't desire revenge."

"Revenge for _whom_?", the younger girl shouted back. "Yeah, so I want revenge on Gares because he killed my mother. Just _who_ are you avenging?"

"Kaus", the word slipped from her lips, and the final piece slid into place for Gilbert. "Kaus Debonair... I loved him."

"Hoo boy", he said once he'd recovered from the shock and knocked the ankh from Norn's hands. "Have you ever got it wrong. We didn't kill Kaus, lass. He escaped the battle of Zenobia, flew back to the Empire on his pet dragon."

But the blond woman frowned. "Bad enough you refuse to give me death, but to lie about Kaus as well?"

"It's not a lie, Norn", Aisha prodded, helping Gilbert to force both arms down. "I didn't see it, but I've known these guys long enough to tell when they're lying. I won't say they're saints- they're not. But they wouldn't kill a surrendered enemy. Do you believe whoever fed you this garbage over _me_, Needlenose?"

They were in the heart of a battle, but Gilbert could not help asking. "Needlenose?"

Aisha shrugged. "Old nickname. Because her nose was so thin and long when she was in the convent. Still is really. I'd really hate to have to break it."

"I see... Well? How about it, miss Needle? Whom do you believe? The Gods-blasted Empire? Or your old friend, a priestess of Roshian?"

Norn said nothing for a stretch, unmoving. Gilbert itched to do something to help the others in the meantime but held his ground, held her still against any sudden counterattack. When the words came, they sounded very frightened. "But, why? Why would they lie about Kaus' death? They said he died of his injuries at Fort Allamoot."

"Because they knew it would provoke you into this suicidal course?", Aisha suggested in disgust. "Hardly. No, the reason I'd guess is that he expressed doubts about his cause after the battle at Zenobia. That's not allowed in the 4 Deva, Norn. They're supposed to be the very pinnacle of Imperial strength and loyalty. Better to tell everyone he died a hero than taint the troops' morale with rumours of a defection."

"Figaro", her friend whispered painfully. "General Rowdain Figaro was his friend too. He swore revenge on you."

"Then the deception goes all the way up to the top command level", Gilbert deduced sadly beside her. "You've lived the sheltered life, lass. This would be your first time being personally screwed by the Empire, wouldn't it?"

"I know, I know", Norn began to weep. "I know that they're bad. I've tried and tried for many years to fix things, make them more receptive to the needs of the people..."

"A voice of dissent, to be silenced- or in your case redirected- at the first opportunity", he dismissed the claim with a wave. "It may well have been the only thing that prevented that early on was your relationship with Debonair. They wouldn't want him to be distracted by the 'mysterious' disappearance of his girlfriend. But now, the time for peaceful protests is over. And believe me, I never thought I'd be the one saying that."

Again, Norn gave them the silent treatment, letting the tears run down off her face. Then she stood, clearing her throat. "HRESVELGR! ERSEVINH!"

Amazingly, the bellowing call reached the pair of bronze colossi. Even more amazingly in Gilbert's eyes was how the two dropped what they were doing and stomped on over to listen closely to the commands of a cleric one hundredth of their size. Though neither looked verbal, their empathy was clear to a seasoned beast tamer as the breeze of the plains.

"You no more hurt!", she called up to them. "You no more fight for now. These people are our friends now. Our friends. Underst-AHK!"

He looked back down in horror. Faster than he or Aisha or even the two Titans could react, captain Rhea Luvalon had cast Mildain away on a rising column of lightning before darting over to impale Norn through the heart, only deflected by a last minute shift to the right. "Apologies, miss Norn", the Muse said over the other woman's screaming, annoyingly calm about it. "I do respect you so. But the Empire cannot afford any more defectors from its ranks. The story of Kaus Debonair cannot spread."

Gilbert snarled and reached for his knife, but one of the Titans was faster still, grabbing Rhea in one massive hand and raising her off the ground with a dull-witted bellow. When the Muse released even more lightning coursing through the creature's beefy arm, he clenched his fist by reflex, and Gilbert ran over to cover Aisha's eyes until it was all over.

Though she looked annoyed at his protection, she wasted little time in attending to her friend. Though the lance had missed Norn's heart, it yet left a massive gap around her stomach that dripped disgustingly. "Even I can't fix this completely", Aisha shook her head in blank despair after several moments of chanting alongside the paladin Mildain, applying more sacred light to the gap, steaming away much of the gore but not mending the wound. "_Pidzets._ We need top-level Roshian healers, and fast!"

Gilbert looked around the field at the end of the vale. Most of the fighting had quieted down with the acquiescence of the two Titans, with Lans and the last-minute reinforcements of Harrison Ordas' division beating down the last of Rhea's troops, the remaining Diaspolans fleeing west. "To the east, near the shrine city of Alkyshon", he commanded. "That's the closest Roshian temple."

Aisha's face fell further. "That's six hours march from here through the vale! I don't know if she can last that long!"

"Take two of Canopus' men", he offered. "That'll cut it down to three hours."

"A-Ai... sha..."

Both looked down. Amazingly, Norn was still just barely conscious. A 'miracle', though surely it had to be excruciating for her. "I'll... make it... I have to... Kaus..."

"Two hours, Needle", her friend promised, kneeling down close. "Two hours, and we'll save you. I promise."

* * *

Destin Faroda could sense the damage done even before Mischa and Halcygos settled down to rest in the field outside Somyul. Seeing one man flattened, another whom captain Rhea had fried to charred bones, Ara gasped and lowered her head in respect.

"Did you foresee this as well, 'master'?", she could not help asking as they approached the gates. "This was a battle you could have assisted in."

Destin said nothing. Merely stared at a particular patch of grass, one slick with the remains of another casualty. Which side had they fought for? For her, the appropriate reaction depending on side remained blurred.

Within the gates, the division leaders looked no less torn-up, several of them crossing the line into expressions of outright scorn. "What...? What happened here?"

Lans left without a word and Ashe followed after him. "Norn Dias happened", Fubuki offered at last. "She attacked before we were ready, without waiting for us to come to the fortress."

He bit back a curse. No wonder he was attracting so many dirty looks. Not since Pogrom Forest had he miscalculated so badly, and this time it had not been his own neck in the noose. "Aisha?"

"At Alkyshon", Gilbert spoke up from behind, a fresh cob pipe brimming with smoke. "Trying to convince the priests there to help. Miss Norn was operating under a few mistaken ideas, it would seem."

Ara sighed, mirroring his own thoughts. It wasn't hard to guess. "The Empire has released the official story that we killed Kaus Debonair instead of merely defeating him", he supplied. "His two best friends both came here specifically for revenge."

"Two?"

"Rowdain Figaro", Ara explained. "Impatient cuss couldn't even wait for us to hit Kalbi."

Not everyone recognized that, but the division leaders did. Neralai looked up from gnawing a bone in his bestial form, struggling to form words with a changed throat. "Norronderr- _wonder_ you werrre so late getting back herrrre."

"Later than I wished, to be sure", the rebel leader bowed in contrition that only appeased those uninjured. "But had I known what was going on, I would've done anything I could to escape that duel and come help you."

"Stuff that, you're lucky to be alive at all", Fubuki remarked, shaking his head in mock pity. "I've seen that guy in action before- he's a force of nature. How fortunate that this little lady from Gilbert's division knew to come to your rescue."

"Fortunate", Gilbert repeated dourly, giving Ara a look. "You remain as uncannily lucky as ever, it seems, lad. I did not even know where you had gone, only that we were to continue the assault. Where did you go, and why?"

Everyone was interested in the answer to that. Destin knew it wouldn't go over well. No one would understand, except the ones who had realized his true gifts. Beckoning to his latest convert for help, he brought out the rare item they'd travelled so far to retrieve...

* * *

A/N: I had hoped to finish Diaspola in one chapter, but that just wasn't possible with my self-imposed size limitation. I'll finish that and Kalbi Penninsula next chapter.

Even with how big Diaspola is, it's now starting to feel like my own new characters and character developments are intruding on the game's original story. A savvy observer might have also noticed how much stronger the 4 Deva and Overlord Hikash are being played up as. I'll admit that's probably a side effect of my recent infatuation with Bleach, and Figaro in particular is designed to be an amalgamation of 'anime tough-guy stereotypes'. Hopefully next chapter can give him a bit more dimension before the big showdown. I've got plenty of other surprises in store for next time too, but that doesn't excuse this chapter feeling a little bland even if Diaspola is. Bear with me.


	16. Punishment

**Punishment**

* * *

**Tarot XIII - Death**

_Having left the tree from where he hung, the Fool moves carefully through a fallow field, head still clearing from visions. The air is cold and wintry, the trees bare. Before him, he sees, rising with the sun, a skeleton in black armor mounted on a white horse. He recognizes it as Death. As it stops before him, he humbly asks, "Have I died?" He feels, in fact, rather empty and desolate. And the Skeleton answers, "Yes, in a way. You sacrificed your old world, your old self. Both are gone, dead." The Fool reflects on that, "How sad." Death acknowledges this with a nod. "Yes, but it is the only way to be reborn. A new Sun is rising, and it is, for you, a time of great transformation." As Death rides away, the Fool can feel the truth in those words. He, too, feels like a skeleton, all that he was stripped away. This, he understands, is how all great transformations start, by stripping things to the bone, and building fresh upon the bare foundations._

* * *

Lans Hamilton did not allow himself to dwell on the angry gazes of the people he passed through the villages en route to Castle Valparin. Beyond the risk that they might take out their frustration upon him and so force a fight in what _should_ have been friendly territory, he did not wish to hold their ire in mind when speaking with the one he wished to deal with. Remaining rational with her would be difficult enough under present circumstances.

Seeing the simple castle untouched and with no sign of trickery about, he repeated that image over and over in his head until the guard came out to meet him. "I'm here to visit Deneb the witch", he said. "Is she alone right now?"

Thankfully, the guard was not one of the helpless dolts who had guarded the castle during the battle to take it, but a committed civil ward who kept to his orders no matter how many offers he must have gotten to let someone in to take care of his charge. There was indeed a vocal mob of peasants waving pitchforks and torches at the front gate at the other side, which Deneb's other assigned protectors were working- and failed- to dispel. "Does this occur often?"

"Every day late evening", the guard admitted, shaking his head. "Except on harvest days, of course, and on Holidays. Nakimedes- he's one of the ones out there now- has already requested additional manpower to help keep them at bay, for we've had more than one deserter."

Lans looked into the man's narrow helmet in pity. These were raw recruits who had not been brought along to the rebellion's more recent battles, but it wasn't hard for him to picture this task being just as nerve-wracking as fighting an enemy army. At least he could vent stress to others like Ashe and Gilbert when he had to, but these four soldiers had no one to speak to but themselves and their charge, isolated from the population of the district they occupied, even their own families. "I am sorry. I am certain sir Destin was not fully aware of the hatred directed towards your charge."

The guard shrugged. "We make do. By the by, how_ is _the war going, captain? Last I heard, you'd engaged the Black Knight at Avalon."

He seemed to consider the request a moment before realizing how the story would end, and what impression it would make. "We did win at Avalon, sir knight. The battle rages on. That is all I dare say."

Lans could not be sure if the younger man understood that, but he let him in through the back gate without any further questioning. Up the stairwell and past a wide stone hallway being used as a mess hall, he was shown into the castle's guest quarters. Currently being used by an occupant who looked to be a permanent guest in the near future.

Deneb Rhodes had not changed, at least not physically. She still wore the lurid pink hat and slippers, plus the suit which hugged her curves so suggestively, currently bent over a table so that her hair dangled down past her waist. As usual, she seemed shockingly pleased to see one of people responsible for locking her up inside her own castle. "Ah! It's Lancelot, isn't it? Destin's told me all about you."

"Not all, I would hope", he said curtly, already feeling bile black with resentment rising in him. "To do so would take many days, and I pray sir Destin has never spent quite _that _long in here with you."

"You needn't be so formal", she pointed out, directing him to a coat closet. "We can talk after you've gotten out of that stuffy armour."

"I prefer to keep it on", he said without hesitating. Gods knew what kind of substances Deneb might have mixed in her own quarters and left hanging in the air for him. Zeichten herbs possibly, the better to dull the mind into compliance.

She grinned crookedly, putting away whatever strange animal bits and plants she'd been working with, and moving a cushioned chair out for him. "You're practically brothers, yet Destin said he's never even seen you outside of that blue steel shell. Why is that?"

"Protection. I dare not relax my guard until the Empire is vanquished." Lans winced, knowing well obvious implications despite his pride. "Only at rest do I remove it, and had you lived through the twenty-four years of treachery and ambushes I have, witch, you might as well."

"Eh. Not my type", she dismissed the claim playfully, "even if I could find a suit of pink armour... You have it then?"

Caught off guard by the sudden request, he nearly shrank from her. Deneb was no aristocrat, content to dance around the issue for hours before settling things at a formal dinner. Too, a lengthy absence from the rebel army might be noticed, and so he followed her example. "I do. But in truth, that is not why I came to you. Promising to deliver this for sir Destin, travelling back here at such a time, was my only chance to speak with you in private."

"So", she said contentedly, looking him over, searching for the item of her desire. "I had a feeling we'd get down to brass tacks some time. You don't like Destin ditching your counsel to hang out with some dumb old _girl._ You don't like me. I know that much without Destin even saying it."

"To put it mildly", Lans agreed, glad to get down to the point, angrily stamping out any attraction her posing and looks might have caused in him. _Laura. Remember Laura._ "And not just some girl. Deneb Rhodes, scourge of Valparin Peaks. You seduce men with your beauty and your toxins, use them to get away with crimes that would see anyone else hang. You are the worst kind of woman in this world, and now you have lured sir Destin into your web, making him your puppet."

"Wow", Deneb seemed impressed by his rant. "Not very many people can say all that out loud to my face. Yeah it's wrong, but still- w_ow_."

"I am immune to your attempts to sway my heart, witch", he claimed with a mailed fist over his heart, confident that was at least half right. "I could run you through now with _Granbane_, and claim the angry peasants outside did it."

"But you won't", she observed the broadsword at his side, now dropping all pretence of the spoiled child she'd pretended to be when they'd first met. "You're too good a man for that, Lancelot."

Out came the sword, quivering at her tender throat. "Do_ not _call me Lancelot. And though t'would be a heinous crime, I must admit at the moment I am solely _tempted_. No more games, witch. Confess. Tell me what you have done to my friend!"

Slowly, with no sign of a threat, Deneb stood and made her way over to the guest quarters bed, flopping down in it's thick cushions while discarding the wide-brimmed hat to reveal tresses of healthy blond, the exact same shade as Destin's own. "So you think I'm doing the Poison Ivy thing to him."

He blinked. "The _what_?"

"Beyond your comprehension", Deneb assured him with a gentle gesture. "From another time and age. I don't know if a stuffy knight like you will believe me or not, but I shall tell you the full truth, Lansy-pants. Accepting it or not... is up to you."

Lans sniffed, sitting down to wait patiently. "Go on."

"As you expected", she began carefully, "I'm not a normal witch. Like so many of the most powerful magicians in human history, I learned of the various ways to immortality."

"Hence your callousness towards the lives of others", Lans growled. "Just like Sage Rashidi, you violate the fundamental laws of nature to put off the inevitable. All living things must eventually die, witch. That is the way of the Twenty-Two."

Deneb did not scowl back, but her eyes told all he needed to know of a gradually-surfacing temper. "Don't interrupt, Lansy-pants. Idiots like Rashidi and Albeleo give the practice a bad name- I don't kill anyone to get my immortality, thanks very much. I've been jumping from body to body for centuries now, and the Twenty-Two haven't seen fit to strike me down yet." She shifted her poise into one of gentle amusement, and kicked up her legs over the foot of the bed. "Mortals and their weirdo Gods. I've seen enough of them by now to tell you- they're pretty much all the same."

"Blasphemy!", he accused. "The pantheon of the Twenty-Two created Zenobia, and seeded it with their power after the Ogre Battle. They are the only Gods with any true power!"

"Or so the Roshian temples preach to their people", Deneb noted casually. "And you accepted it all as gospel when you were just a child, right? Don't worry about it- it's not like it's a bad thing. Belief systems _are_ required to unite the common people. That's why every civilized country in the world has established some form of it, whether the Twenty-Two or the War Goddess Freya or Saint Ajora or the Flying Spaghetti Monster."

She yawned as if the topic was an old and boring one. "Everyone needs Faith, Lansy. Without it, you'd be too busy eating each other to build anything approaching a civilization like what you have now." Her lips went wide, becoming a wistful grin. "You want proof? Go visit the lands of Norennai some time, a ways south of Gargastan. Not much left there but ruins and corpses now."

On that gloomy note, she licked her lips back to a healthy pink. "Back on track. I've lived a good long while, Lansy. Longer than the Sky Knights, longer than Rashidi Light, and with experience comes knowledge. Most men's hearts are open books to me by now. They'll fawn all over me at the slightest hint of exposed flesh, so eager are they to plough me. I'm not sure if it's a side-effect of the ritual I use to make new bodies or I'm just that good, but there ya go."

"But in all that time", she continued emphatically, "in all these centuries, it's never been mutual until now. In all that time, I've never met anyone like _Him_."

His first impulse was to cry foul. To rage and rant and call her a pathetic charlatan who loved no one but herself.

Yet... the longing sigh that followed her statement sounded too subdued to be faked or exaggerated. Might it, in fact, be the truth? _Careful now_, he reminded himself. _This hussy is immortal and possesses centuries of experience in deceiving men. She even admitted to it. _"You say that you love sir Destin?"

"I do", she said without irony, gazing up at the ceiling as though it was a confessional booth. "I do. I do. I've met a million men in my lifetime, but none who repelled my charms so thoroughly even as he stole my heart."

"But he _spared_ you!"

"Because he thought it was the right thing to do", she smiled back at him pityingly, kicking her feet up until both the pink slippers had flown off and landed on the floor. "He's so self-righteous that way. I won't deny I spent a lot of time with him after that. I even tried a few other pheromones on him the first few times he visited. Nothing worked. He spared me because he felt it was _right_. No other reason, and I love him for that."

Seeing how he still wasn't buying it, she snickered. "Maybe that's it. The man who is competent and strong, whose will I cannot break and mold into my plaything, is the one who attracts me. Just my luck, right? I thought I couldn't rest until I at last made him _mine_, but after a few nights, I realized that just wasn't going to happen. He's too strong for that."

"Yet the feeling _is_ mutual", Lans stammered, still not quite believing her words. "Sir Destin returned to this castle to be intimate with you every chance he had. No one forced him. That is why I was so worried- I believed the changes that have come over him recently were your doing."

"You silly goat", she chuckled. "Like anything_ I_ could do would change how he conducts battle. You know of his past?"

"I do", he admitted. Clearly, Destin had shared_ that_ intimate secret with her among other things. "The son of the late Lexar and Iris Faroda, Zenobians. He was made Gares Endora's chew toy, the innocent victim by which the prince gained the powers of the Black Knight."

"I've done all I could to heal those gaping wounds", she said, for once united with the knight captain in their worry for their friend's mental state. "Bavmordian reed, ethereal powder, a few well-placed kisses, everything... He's still very hurt by it, and the fact that old Warny kept it from him."

"For his own good!", he exclaimed, but then frowned. "No. T'is a lie. Not for his own good, but for the good of Zenobia. Not quite the same thing. But he was the only one who could have gotten this far, blessed as he is by the Twenty-Two."

"A divine weapon is all that Warren Moon wanted", Deneb said gloomily. "A tool of Destiny to destroy the Empire, that's all he was. It's simply his way. Too bad for him, _this_ tool's got a mind of it's own. Not to mention he's dreamy as all get-out."

Again, Lans felt himself on the verge of protesting. He'd known both men for as long as he'd lived, and never had Warren Moon shown their star pupil anything but the same tough love he gave to all his disciples, calling them fools and worse even as he helped them past the worst of life's barriers. Might it be true? He remembered his own doubts of Deneb and shuddered.

"Yet you seek to become much more to him than that", he noted. "I _may_ have misjudged you, witch. If all that you say is true."

"It is", she maintained, suddenly eager. "And I do. I swear on your Gods that I do. Immortality, shmimmortality- I love him way too much to let this pass. When his war is over, I'm going to ask him, Lansy-pants. I'm going to ask him to make me Deneb Faroda."

She winked as if it was a matter of no consequence. "Heck, our family names are even kinda similar. Rhodes. Fa-RHO-Da. Don't tell anyone, okay Lansy?"

"You needn't worry", he said wearily. He couldn't imagine sharing such a revelation with anyone. "Together forever, then?"

"I don't think he'll like that", Deneb admitted, shrugging. "But hey, you never know. Que sera sera and all that. I can promise the item doesn't have anything to do with that."

"Take it then", the blue knight stood, producing a sturdy corsage from his pack, briefly touching Laura's gift. The item gleamed as though made of gold, holding exotic-looking flowers forever frozen in time.

Deneb clasped her hands in joy, getting back off the bed. "Oh, how wonderful! He really did get the Golden Bough for me!"

"At great cost", he reminded her grimly. "50,000 Goth in a far-off town. I certainly hope it was worth it." The Golden Bough was a rare plant which grew only in the valleys around Diaspola, used in a number of alchemical recipes but incredibly rare. Even the merchant Toad had not possessed one in his stock of bizarre trinkets, but one of the merchants in Pelegue had held onto exactly one for them.

"Oh, it was", she assured him silkily. "With this thing, I can finally create the Glass Pumpkin! I was trying all sorts of substitute recipes to cheat it you know, but it looks like it's not possible without the real thing." Taking it hungrily, she only stopped at the doorway to remember her company. "In case you care Lansy, the Glass Pumpkin's scent is said to be able to attract the original form of Pumpkin warrior. In all my years, I've never successfully created one."

"In all of your years", Lans repeated, sensing what she'd left unsaid. "You have attempted it before?"

"A few times, yeah", she noted absently, refusing to take her eyes off the glittering bough. "So I caused a few explosions. Whatever. But I've got a good feeling about this time, I really do!"

"Perfect", he stood, tight-lipped and ready to depart; he'd had about enough of the witch as he could stand. "Enjoy sir Destin's gift to you then."

But for all her faults, Deneb wasn't completely deaf to his feelings. Her eyes drooped. "Hey, come on now. Don't be like that Lansy. I'm doing your people a favour. I can send Pumpkin warriors to help you out."

"Is that truly all there is for you?", he cut in, feeling foolish but unable to let this slide. "Pumpkins? Herbs? Potions? Creating more bizarre weapons of war for the highest bidder?"

She released the bough, vaulting off the bed. "Not the highest bidder, Lansy-pants. Just the people I like the most. I like _you_. I love Destin." She would never convince him to remove the helmet, and so settled for placing a single kiss on the blue metal and an inviting wink as she drew back. "Be grateful for that."

Royal dignity demanded he turn away from such a thing, depart in an agitated huff. "T'is Lans... miss Deneb."

But she got the hint, and smiled back pure mischief. "Happy to be of service, Lansy. Tell Destin hi from me."

* * *

Rowdain Figaro, 2nd Deva of the Empire, had a few things in life that never failed to piss him off utterly. He didn't like being woken up before he was ready and rested. He didn't like seeing displays of weakness after waking up. He _really_ didn't like seeing displays of weakness from his own troops, and he particularly didn't like such a display after the failure of a task he'd assigned to them.

Four men and two women stood before him now, each one of them extremely skilled fighters he had handpicked from the rank-and-file commoners to become his division leaders. Suitably, each of them were in-tune enough with their commander's moods to understand just how much trouble they were in, for the fear on their faces was growing as he drew near.

Seeing them like that, abased before his great strength in terror, he drew his weapon, the same plain style of blade shared by the 4 Deva, and dragged it among the stone of castle Kalbia, generating a low, if hideous, scraping sound as he stalked along the line, fixing each face he beheld with raw anger.

"You fled", he accused over the scraping sound. "You all fled before the rebels, bringing your divisions along with you in your cowardice."

None of them could deny it. Figaro could see that all six faces shared the same guilt, but was too incensed to think to do anything but drive that guilt home. The horrible sword scraping resumed, sparks casting each face into brief shadow.

"I took each and every one of you from the regular army to join my 11th legion for a reason. Because I saw in you the talent and the potential to become mighty warriors, legendary experts in your chosen field, whether it be sorcery", he nodded to the large-nosed mage 2nd from the left, "or stealth killing", he fixed a dark-garbed ninja master from Deneuve with his best stare, "or the way of the blade", he came to a stop facing a small-faced Muse, _Einjerhar_ 3rd Rank even before he'd helped her to hone her skills to a killing edge and tame dragons as her personal steeds. "The 11th does _not_ permit cowards to join. So I'll give you all exactly one chance to explain yourselves." Quick as a cat, the sword rose up to press hard into the Muse's chest. "Go."

"M-my Lord", one of the Dragoners began, desperate to save the lives of his comrades as well as himself, for already the Muse looked as though she could not breathe. "You know that we would gladly lay down our lives for you and the Empire. Do not think for one moment we have forgotten that. You trained us to be the best there is, to crush the weak beneath our feet. It was not the rebel scum which drove us back to the castle."

"It was a magical attack, lord Figaro", the mage agreed. "I did not sense the shift in the ley currents of this place at the time, but it had to be there."

Releasing the Muse, the Deva instead drove his blade up to the mage. "What do you mean, Sekulmpka? I didn't think the rebels possessed the spellcasters required to launch a wave of that power."

"Not as you know it, lord Figaro", a Beast Tamer spoke up in dulcet tones, then a nod to several of the others to indicate something he could not place. "I cannot speak for all of us, but I spoke with Sekulmpka mere hours before we began the attack. He had not slept well the night before, complaining of dreadful nightmares."

"Nightmares... Nightmares?", Figaro whispered. He could take no more of this mewling, pathetic weakness before him. Freya help him, he had to release the tremors quaking through his body or he'd simply explode. Whirling, he took the tamer's head off with a single chop and laid into the rest full-blast. "_WE_ ARE THE NIGHTMARES HERE! _WE_ ARE THE REBELS' FEAR! _WE_ DO NOT RETREAT FROM BATTLE SIMPLY BECAUSE OF A FEW...a few... bad DREAMS!"

None of the remaining five dared look back at the fallen body lest they join it, but the mage bravely maintained the suggestion. "The dream, m'lord. What was uncanny about the dream, is that when Hrothgar and I discussed it, it turned out we had both experienced the exact same one. I would anticipate most of the others experienced the same thing, and not merely the division leaders."

Now Figaro planted sword in the ninja master's chest, demanded more answers. "So? Does he speak the truth? Did you _all _have these... 'unpleasant dreams'... last night?"

Reluctantly but collectively, all four raised their hands. "Normally we would not bother you with such drabble, lord", the Dragoner stammered. "Nor would we allow these midnight visions to impair our skill. But..."

"But", the mage carried over, "the fact that all of us experienced the same thing means it was no ordinary dream. It was a magical attack lord, a strike on our will to fight performed before the rebels arrived here to attack. It only bore fruit now."

For a moment they all thought the mage had earned his death sentence as well over such an observation, but the general relaxed his blade. "It was Destin Faroda, the chaos-bringer. Killing you with his two swords. Butchering you. Over and over, in increasingly horrible ways. While your flesh still lived. Was it not?"

The five of them paled, recognizing the vision which had left many of them awake and screaming the night before. The ninja nodded and the rest followed. "When we saw the real thing at the front of the rebel formation", he explained, "we panicked. He was the very vision from our nightmares. Fear took us over, and we all took our divisions, retreated back here, leaving the rest to engage by themselves.".

Far from demanding sympathy, he planted himself face down before the general. "I am shamed, my lord Figaro. It is clear that we all held lingering primal fears, which your training did not completely purge from us. I... I submit to your judgement and Freya's. As do we all."

Figaro's eyes slid shut for many breaths, and several of the five held what they thought to be their final breaths. "I had that dream as well", Figaro said for the sake of any who had not already guessed. "It left me... confused. I had figured it an act of revenge, a magical trick to get me back for how I completely humiliated Faroda last time we met." Scowling, he held out his weapon, an inch from gutting the Dragoner. "Weaklings. MICE, all of you. Dream or no, your cowardice is an embarrassment to us. To me. I should send you on to meet Freya's judgement myself."

An involuntary gulp from the Dragoner. Already the Muse had knelt down in prayer, expecting the final blow to come. Each had served under their Deva long enough to know this was not an idle threat, if that slight glimmer in the corners of his eyes' whites was not sufficient.

Their general was not the High Monk Randals. He did not merely recite the words and ways of the gospels taught to all Zeteginean children. He embraced his servitude to the warrior's teachings beyond all possible doubt in his mind. Against how arrogant and hot-headed he seemed in times of calm, Rowdain Figaro was a True Believer in Freya, the Goddess of life, fertility and war, and it was perhaps_ that_ which made him most dangerous of all his many traits.

And it was this trait which saved them. "Yet", he said, lowering the weapon a fraction. "To sully Her arms with your worthless souls now would be a gross insult, at least not before you have the chance to redeem yourselves in Her eyes, and mine. Go now, my chosen ones. Find Faroda. _Don't_ kill him- just slaughter all of his _haaswein _allies, pick off those closest to him... So that when he arrives at this castle to face me, he'll be even more pissed off."

The five leaders looked very confused at this order, but he merely smirked at them eagerly. "I want to see Faroda shaking with vengeful RAGE when he gets here. From head to toe. Incensed that we've killed off so many of his friends... All the better for me to crush him down from the highest possible height. Do you understand now?"

The five could not but nod in unison, each of them too relieved to speak. They had been spared, and more importantly in Figaro's estimation, would remember both this mercy and, thanks to the sight of one of their own dying, how poorly their commander looked upon cowardice such as this.

"Commander", Sekulmpka found the nerve to pipe up after several seconds. "Behind you."

Spinning around to look out the main window of the castle, Figaro immediately launched into a stream of curses upon seeing the plume of smoke just over the horizon. The mining town of Belgen. It had to be. None of the others were anywhere near them. What who could have-

"Faroda", he murmured slackly at the window, now smelling further evidence of a major fire at that town. "You really think that this will defeat me? Well?", he directed the second question to his five intact division leaders. "This little diversion won't beat us, will it now?"

"No, sir", the muse echoed, equally struck by the sight of one of their towns burning- and in the Kalbi Penninsula of all places!

"Sorry? Didn't catch that."

"NO, SIR!", they shouted as one.

"Good", he approved. "Seku and Yoshi, get your divisions over there and quell that blaze. Make them think we've taken the bait. Meanwhile, the rest of us shall fortify the castle for our guests."

With that, his people burst into hurried action as though they hadn't been on the edge of a death sentence mere moments ago. Figaro could not help but smile as the rest of his elite divisions hustled about, arranging their surviving ice-based creatures so as to take the brunt of the opening attack. Sure, there had been a few setbacks. Sure, this rebellion was proving itself to be much more of a nuisance than he would ever have dreamed of.

But that was exactly the point. And in truth, General Rowdain Figaro could barely contain his excitement at the prospect. To him it was all worth it, to have a fight like the one he now knew was coming to his very doorstep.

* * *

Valerin Ashe shivered, trying in vain to stop his nose from acting up any worse than it already had. Anticipating the horrid chill, knowing it was to come, did nothing to grid him for the true terror of the Kalbi Penninsula. For all his time in this world, he had not come expecting a frozen purgatory.

Everywhere it was white, a seamless field of blinding white that stretched off to the horizon with the frost-covered vale they'd left behind as the only marker of their progress as it receded. Ashe found it hard to believe that past that endless abyss, there were actual settlements of people who willingly_ lived_ out here, somehow accustomed to the bitter cold of the region- even the maps they'd gone over had him only part-way convinced of it.

Not as hard to accept, however, as the bitter logic by which Destin had advocated attacking it in the first place. The meeting had been a long and tiring one, and for the first time he'd found issue with the young man's plans.

Not that it had helped- he'd been adamant that this was the way to go, and the rest of the division leaders either too frightened of the Gods who guided him to protest or resigned to silence out of anger like Canopus Walf. Scuttlebutt had it that Tsuno had engaged in a private shouting contest with Destin after learning about the breaking of the Somyul fortress garrison, bitter but not yet willing to abandon his cause. Just like Lans.

"We know the arrangement of the Imperial forces in Malano", Destin had explained methodically to everyone as he panned his hands over the larger country map, a yellowed thing that only indicated the division of provinces and capitals. "We know the majority of them are currently stationed around the capital and Fort Allamoot, concerned that we'll attack during the wedding scheduled to happen there in a week. Supreme Overlord Hikash Vinzalf is personally commanding those legions, so we do not dare strike there unless they come to us."

He did not need to elaborate on how small their chances of victory in a direct battle against such a force were. For all their victories and miracles, the rebellion could not defeat thousands of seasoned troops under the direction of the Empire's single greatest tactician. It simply could not be done. The only consolation, he had noted, was that the Empire's current supply situation made it unlikely they would risk moving many soldiers away from a major population centre for long.

If the Hikash did indeed make that gamble and made their soldiers attack over the noise of two thousand or more grumbling stomachs, the handful of defenders they'd left at Diaspola citadel had orders to make a slow retreat, hindering the retaking of the prison district but not directly opposing it. Such a victory would only stretch the Empire thinner and make their supply problems worse. Such was the way of the guerrilla army, that in the face of overwhelming numbers they had no choice but to consider any territory taken from their enemy only a temporary loan. If Hikash struck, nothing could stop him. But conventional wisdom indicated he wouldn't, and Hikash was very conventional.

"Kalbia, on the other hand", he had emphasized, "is garrisoned by only one legion, the 11th, under General Rowdain Figaro. Fewer than three hundred troops scattered across the snowfields- a high leap for us still but yet possible. Taking it opens up the provinces of Balmorra and Antalia to attack."

Not that they had any plans to go to the 'Land of Imprisonment' any time soon, Ashe noted to himself. Antalia remained one of the few lands of the south that remained out of the Empire's grasp, though in this case its people had cause to regret that fact. A powerful order of Necromancers had convened during the first war to take control of it, led by a crafty old buzzard named Omicron.

To this day, little news got out of the hermit-state, only reports that the entire region had become little more than a playground for the Necromancers' power, covered in unhealthy marshes. Its borders were guarded by stronger breeds of the undead, kinds that were impossible to create naturally- appropriately enough, Halla had given a foreboding moan at the idea of taking them on.

"Those three-hundred are types well conditioned for combat in the snow, like most of the Empire's troops", one of Lans' knights had protested on the missing captain's behalf. "We, on the other hand, lack any sort of real experience with such terrain. They'll run rings around us, lord, until we're too hungry and cold to fight back. It shall be difficult enough to find the cities in that region, never mind holding them."

"First", Destin had ticked the portions of his counter-argument off slowly on his mail-clad fingers. "Snowfields don't affect flying divisions nearly as badly, and as you can see on the map I've already written up a formation that will allow our fliers to act as an early-warning screen for the main army. Second, we're not entirely without snow-conditioned units. Lyon?"

Then the Beast Lord had appeared less energetic than his usual but bringing with him one of his dragons. Recognizable by its grooved snout, but its scales now coloured the same silver as the ones they'd been fighting in Diaspola instead of bright green. Both the creatures had been dutifully missed during the battle with Norn, but now the reason why had been made apparent. "Quenaya has become a Silver Dragon", he pointed out for anyone who was unaware of how the dragonkin matured. "They are particularly well-suited to snow travel, capable of flying through the worst of blizzards. I plan to have Lyon's division lead our ground forces, a simple game of follow-the-leader so we won't get lost like in Pogrom Forest."

Which had brought him to his third point. "This won't be a long battle, not if everyone does their part", Destin had said insistently. "We are only to stop and rest at a single town, Belgen, which lies along the route to the fortress of Kalbia. As with the capital of Zenobia, we need only strike down the enemy leader to cripple their efforts at defence in the region. Without a coordinator or home base, we can thin out and destroy them at our leisure."

"The enemy leader is a Deva, lord", the insolent knight pointed out. "He'll have the majority of his forces guarding the castle, for certain. We will be trapped between them and the ice storms of the Kalbian night."

It had been then that Ashe saw their leader's real temper surfacing, if only just a tad in his voice. "This is our battle plan, sir Zagan. I have constructed it because it is the path which will cause the least of us to die. If you have a more lucrative idea, one that isn't forged from naught but wishful thinking and guesswork, please share."

Ashe had felt more than a little ashamed over his amusement at the pathetic defence plan Zagan then attempted to outline, an unambitious wall-in at Diaspola that assumed the Empire's supply problems were a permanent affliction and that the fortress at Somyul could hold off multiple legions at once after they'd hunkered down for days. Chastened and ridiculed by his colleagues and the merciless blue gaze of Destiny's Child, he at last relented.

None of this knowledge made the cold any easier to bear as they trudged across the endless white fields, their boots buried deep and scarcely sufficient to keep all the snow out. He swore he could feel something deep within his nose freezing solid, the chill creeping past his armour, up his legs into his bones like living poison, making him sneeze again and again. _Damn I hate the cold._

It was just as well then, he admitted to himself, that the Imperial forces so far had been surprisingly tame. There had been the occasional scout force for sure, a flock of Cockatrices equally as annoying as the ones in Zenobia had been, followed closely by their first meeting with the Empire's famous Dragon Tamers, who wore unique armour that insulated them from harm as well as it did the cold while they directed their own silver dragons and fought with ordinary swords on the level of knights.

But if one looked at the numbers alone, not to mention how handily those enemies had been beaten back, it was easy to see they were having a comparatively easy time of it, with more time spent battling the harsh climate than soldiers.

_Foolishness_, he told himself grumpily, wondering if perhaps he should have objected to this attack as well. Together with Zagan, they might have been able to talk some sense into their leader's head. If he'd been right all along, and the majority of the enemy forces were in fact waiting to pounce when the rebels arrived at the fortress standing at the very tip of the peninsula, they would die before anyone had the chance to blame Destin.

_Not going to say it_, he vowed as signs of another skirmish broke out ahead of them, prompting his division to hurry up and reinforce. The new foes looked to be more Ice Giants, these ones using their home terrain advantage very well indeed, erupting from the snowfields without warning.

"There", Zagan pointed to the horizon once the last one had fallen, allaying fears that they'd gotten turned around even as the new sight filled the rebels with anxious questions. A plume of smoke rising from afar. From the general direction of the mining town, Belgen. Someone had started a fire. A large one, considering how far away they were.

_Not going to say it. Not going to say-_

He sneezed. Twice. The result splattered across the inside of his visor, dripping down and nearly obscuring his sight. _I'm getting too old for this._

* * *

Lans should have known better, but his own nervousness kept him waiting at the door for many minutes before intruding on Warren Moon's chosen tower in Zenobia Castle. Like Deneb had been, the Sage remained bent over his current activity without signs of hearing the blue knight enter, but unlike her, the two men had known each other long enough for Lans to perish the thought that the older man was not aware of his presence.

"You can take the armour off, Lancelot", he called from his spot over a large table and a more complicated array of Tarot and incense than Lans had ever seen him use. "I promise not to tell anyone."

"I told you don't call me-", he stopped himself. _Simply his way. _"Sir Warren."

Looking up from the cards, the Moon Sage feigned a wide-eyed enthusiasm. "Why hello to you too. It's been quite a while since the two of us had a chance to speak privately, I am sure. Even longer since you felt the desire to bother yourself with this crazy old wizard."

"I never meant offence", Lans bowed before sitting before him. "There was simply nothing more for us to say to each other which we'd not yet gone over. I train Destiny's Child in the ways of the sword, you guide him in the intricacies of leading an army. At least...", he broke off in distress, coming to the _real_ reason why he'd returned to the capital. "That is how it was _supposed _to work. I must admit my faith has been... shaken, as of late."

"You don't say", Warren noted with a superior smirk beneath his beard. "I was wondering how long it would be before you clued in. Not as long as Gilbert or Ashe, I'll grant you, but still..."

Lans heaved a sigh. This was why he always shied away from direct confrontations with the Sage. As with Destin and possibly every other person he met, Warren Moon had this way of stealthily ridiculing his peers, taunting them with information that they would not become enlightened into for a while yet. It got to be too much at times. Coupled with the way he held himself apart from the group and held nothing but disdain for all Orders and religions not his own, it was no wonder that Warren Moon had no friends, and had no known family. That was simply his way, and he stuck to it with a disturbing vigour, as solitary as an island in a storm.

He felt it would be best to summarize what he_ did_ know so far, so that what he wished to know might become clearer with a minimum of Warren making him feel like a simpleton. "You abandoned the rebellion when we travelled to Avalon", he said. "You feared that when he encountered Gares Endora, his memories of the torture he endured at his hands would return, and he would learn of the spell which you used to block those memories?"

"Aye", the Sage said, for once dead serious.

"By the Gods, _why_?"

Warren's eyes narrowed, and he finally set down the blank tarot card he'd been holding. "You're certain you wish to hear all of this, Lancelot? It might seem a bit heretical to one such as you. I know the Roshian Order would not approve of your consorting with me."

But Lans waved it away. "They can do what they will. You are the one who found our _hope_. They would never say so, but the Roshian Order now owes to you its very existence."

Warren looked like he'd been slapped. "And already I regret doing so. I should have let the Empire burn their temples to the last altar, but then I suppose the Fool could never have been convinced of that at the time, could he? No, no... You are right. Whatever the unwanted side effects, we must deal with things as they are, not as we wish them to be."

"But now things have gotten complicated", the knight captain said morosely. "Our hope has strayed from the path of the Gods."

"Our _hope_", the Sage echoed. "I know. I should have foreseen it; how could we not end up on this path? Grant a boy his age such power and influence, and once he recognizes the parameters he'll think he can do no wrong, no matter what warnings I gave the Fool."

Lans froze. "You...?"

The wizard chuckled, shaking the length of his beard back and forth. "Oh, no. All I did was locate and commission you to find the dungeon where he was held, then apply the ritual you spoke of to render him capable of behaving like a human being again. The power to influence destiny, the Gods granted Destiny's Child long before I ever knew of him."

"And what of the other power?", he asked eagerly. "Why does sir Destin now possess such powerful dark magic, even though you never taught him?"

"I taught him the basics of magic", Warren said, beholding the Magician Card in its reverse position. "How to recognize and disrupt it with his sword, mainly. Being Zenobian-born, it's certainly possible that he might pick up the natural instincts of it with a bit of hands-on experience... But_ that_ magic, I think, we have the Black Knight to thank for."

"Gares?"

"No, the _other_ Black Knight who tortured Destin as a child, OF COURSE I mean Gares. Idiot.", Warren snapped back, then moving the Priestess Card to a new position on the table. "_Pes'hyk. _I swear the blank card changes suits... yet I cannot determine any pattern to the change. One minute it was there, taking the place of the Temperance card, the next second gone in a flash, becoming another number in the deck."

"Sir Warren", the knight repeated, determined not to be put off this time. "Forgive my impertinence, but I must know. Things have gotten out of control. What is the true reason that you arranged the rebellion? What has it to do, if anything, with Sage Rashidi?"

"So many abilities, all in one... dangerous, you know."

"Warren. Please. Tell me."

"Just as well that Gares locked him away, really, keeping normal people away from the little freak. Can you_ imagine_ if he'd grown up among the common folk possessing such abilities?"

"Warren. Honoured Sage... I only seek to steer my brother away from the paths which lead to destruction."

"Destruction", the Sage scoffed down at his table, giving no signs of being willing to answer the real question. "_Destruction_? Hah! Destruction would be preferable compared to the fates I have foreseen. A rising current of unrest. A betrayal. Darkness rising on both sides of the scale, blocking out all voices of reason or compassion."

"I know that he intended to attack the Kalbi Penninsula before I left", Lans said, finally diverted by the Sage's ranting. "The least suicidal of several options. But I believed with his special powers and the skilled warriors he'd recruited, he could manage it. What of Kalbi? Please. I must know."

But Warren only snorted in mockery. "The Arcana is nowhere near that precise. The Fool's battle may be won or it may be lost. All I know is that should he live, be shall be turned further away from the way of kings in the process."

"Business as usual then", Lans seconded in despair. "Which is why I must know what involvement, if any, Rashidi had in this. For he is the last remaining suspect I can think of which wrought this sudden change in sir Destin!"

"Sudden", Warren said the word as if it were the punch line to a joke. "Sudden, was it? Were you expecting some clearly-visible sign of external machination? A demon, perhaps? Some sort of dark infection from the Black Knight? Don't think I don't know what you've been bothering the witch over."

"In all humility", the knight maintained, "I only seek the unclouded truth from you, my friend. Nothing else."

"Then you shall have it", Warren said grimly. "Come with me now, and see for yourself the future which our hope fast approaches." Kneeling down, he retrieved a pouch with a new kind of powder within, which he then scooped out into the central dish.

"Breathe deep", he advised once the resulting smoke had trailed up into the thatch ceiling. "Behold the Arcana, the means by which All is Revealed...!"

* * *

From the rest stop at Belgen to the castle at the frigid penninsula's tip, the rebellion army seemed unstoppable. Halla and the undead group mowed over Cleric-less divisions, while off to their left Quenaya battled with a pair of ninja, their master already slain by Fubuki. On the other side, a more numerous bunch of knights under sir Ordas' direction duelled with a quartet of Muses. Presiding over it all were the repeated waves of healing from Aisha, Sara and several others which restored depleted warriors almost faster than they could be worn down. Despite the chaos reminding everyone of the assault on castle Amad, it wasn't long before Tsuno had destroyed the inner and outer gates with great spheres of flame, leaving the inner sanctum open to attack.

As Destin had somehow anticipated, the Imperials had shown obvious reluctance to attack him directly, and he had played that fact to his advantage more than once to Ashe's chagrin. By staying together with his division at the front, he guaranteed the safety of all those nearest to him. By moving that division around like a giant shield, he had kept all the rebel ground forces almost completely intact up until now, at the final encounter.

Yet Ashe pretended not to have heard the shout beckoning his division into the castle, preferring to remain outside dealing with the surprise appearance of a Black Dragon, the same kind which Gares had kept as his pets on Avalon.

Black fit the old knight's mood at the moment. He could not bear to look at Destin Faroda overlong.

When the final obstacles were downed, it was only Norn, sir Reldin, and sir Guilus who got into the castle's uppermost mezzanine with him. He didn't seem to mind, letting the rear door slam shut behind them as they approached the large rock outcropping's single occupant. The 2nd Deva pushed himself off the stone railing as if drunk, decked out in armour identical to Debonair's and the same style of sword at the ready.

"Damn", Rowdain Figaro said, sounding impressed. "Four then. All the power of my 11th and we still couldn't whittle you down far enough as I would have liked."

"It happens", Destin replied, unsurprised by the enemy's tactic laid bare. "You were too predictable in your moves. And like most of your colleagues, you underestimate our strength and willpower."

"Our strength", Figaro repeated, mocking. "_Their_ strength Faroda, or_ your_ strength? If you weren't doing that dream thing to scare my best fighters away, we'd have had you down before you even got half of the way here. You'd have shown up at this castle alone, tired, cold, and begging to go to the place where you could apologize to them. Or mayhap I'm wrong, and such a fate no longer frightens you, does it, Faroda?"

Rising to the bait, the rebel leader drew Brunhild and Kalanbolg, holding both blades side by side. "Every battle strategy I have created is designed to preserve my people above all else", he said contemptuously. "And I don't put my own life ahead of theirs. This battle should be proof enough of that."

"Des-", Norn cut in, realizing what he meant and determined to stop it. She did not even try to talk Figaro out of fighting, as Gilbert had her, for she could feel the desire simmering from him. "Destin. We're with you. No matter what. You know that, right?"

But the rebel looked back, gesturing sternly with Brunhild to motion Reldin and Guildus back, as if the legendary blade's authority could enforce his decision. "I cannot comfort you all with a lie this time. We don't have the numbers or the strength to pull what we did on Gares... I'm the only one of us here who has a chance at keeping up with this Deva's power. If I have to protect you guys at the same time, then that chance becomes nothing. I'll take healing from you and sir Guildus, nothing more."

"Hah! Weakling!", Figaro crowed. "You rely on your healers to pull you through?"

"And you're not summoning your pet dragons to help, I noticed", Destin observed over Guildus' protest. "How come? Oh. They're the black ones outside, aren't they?"

"Maybe", Figaro muttered, already beckoning for Destin to make the first move. "Either way, it's finally time to settle things. Round two. This time with no interruptions. I'll send you to Hell, where your soul shall be made my friend's plaything."

He groaned. "This again? I told you before, I didn't kill Debonair."

"Sure. Just like you didn't just burn down Belgen to try and divert some of my people away from the main battle. Have to admit- I didn't think you'd have the spine for that." Apparently tired of talking without fighting, the tan-haired man swung his blade about in a showy circle before leaping down the stairs for a flying cut directed at Destin's head.

Deflected but not without great effort and furrows dug into the carpet by braced feet, he let loose a wild laugh as he landed on the steps, continuing into a flashy combination, driving his foe back, speaking without any sign of distraction. "This is your end, Faroda. You think you've seen_ skill _so far? You think you've seen _strength_? I'm the Zwei-Deva, friend. All these other folks that you've been fighting? Kapella, Kaus, even the Black Knight himself... they're all _trash_ compared to me! C'mon!"

* * *

Lans Hamilton stood among a milling crowd in the Zenobian Capital. It took him several minutes to recognize that the last time he had done so was among the crowd of people who had witnessed the execution of King Gran and his family, and a few more to remember why it was that the last thing he remembered was talking to Warren Moon in the castle tower. The sight of the Sage, a few rows back among a pack of peasants better suited to the present-day capital than the one he'd known and defended, confirmed his suspicions. "This is not real."

"No", Warren agreed with a weak smile, passing through the crowd as though they were not even there. Looking down, Lans saw his own leg sticking through a child. Bloodless the boy laughed, and ate his cornbread as though a large armoured leg sticking through him was no inconvenience at all. "Not yet anyway. We are as ghosts here, passively viewing one of many possible futures of Zenobia as constructed by the Arcana. It may or may not come to pass."

"Yet you said this is the most likely one at the present time", he remembered, scanning the crowd for some sign of what year or season it was. Things did not seem much changed from the way the capital was in their time, still in dire need of repairs and restructuring throughout the city everywhere save the castle, its walls still collapsed into white limestone debris. He could feel a current of anxiousness throughout the crowd of peasants, and saw several knights he did not recognize holding them at the castle's front court. Panning around past the ragged mob, he saw several more armoured figures guarding the exits to the square.

Then, atop the main balcony of the castle where governor Darian had been caught, Destin Faroda appeared. At such a distance Lans could not make a close examination of the new armour, only that it was new, and of the same shade of red which his friend preferred. The same went for whatever changes might have happened to his expression- surface details, nothing more.

The voice, at least, had changed very little. "People of Zenobia", Destin began in the far-reaching voice he'd learned since Sharom to adopt when speaking to large crowds. "My people. Please listen to me..."

The confused murmuring quieted down some, and a nasty glare from a few of the guards silenced the rest. "The Zeteginean Empire is no more", Destin emphasized. "The Liberation of the Highlands is complete, and all who would stand against us are dead. Yet, no sooner have we rid ourselves of one enemy, then another appears to take its place."

This prompted even more confused muttering, just as swiftly silenced as before. "I understand your concerns. The new enemy is the vast nation called Lodis. They seek to destroy us, to take from us what is rightfully ours while we recuperate from our losses in the last war. However..."

He clenched one mailed fist here, and now Lans could feel a strange confidence which was not there before. "They will not succeed. This, I swear to you, my people. For in my battles against the Empire I have happened upon a wondrous new power which shall save us all from Lodis. It shall _destroy_ them, and all others who might defy us! The very power which the Empire's prince Gares Endora sought to use against us. The power of the Dark!"

The crowd's noises of rejection echoed Lans own thoughts. "No", he tried to speak above the clamour, his throat suddenly dry as the Dahlmud desert. "This cannot be."

"It shall be", Warren corrected him emotionlessly. "Welcome to the New Kingdom of Zenobia."

"Your scepticism is understandable", Destin said without waiting for complete silence. "After all, Gares fell before us along with many of the Empire's other warriors. But remember, my people- he was only a Zeteginean. Compared to we of the blood, _we_ who are the sons of this blessed land Zenobia, all other beings are pathetic when it comes to the use of magic. I have attained the power, and I shall share it among the faithful, and in our hands it shall be far greater than anything Gares could have ever accomplished. Behold, my people! Mine is the power of a GOD, come down to Earth to save thee!"

A tremor shook the earth before the castle and Lans at last understood. The armoured guards weren't there to keep people from blundering into the square during their leader's speech. They were to keep Zenobia's people _in_. Before anyone could shout a warning, a bolt of pure blackness lashed out to strike a gray-haired man towards the front of the crowd, an engulfing cloud of energy that cut off his scream as the others backed away from it in panic. Fighting desperate prayers in his heart not to, Lans flew through the terrified populace to see what was happening up close, and Warren followed behind on his walking stick.

When the dark cloud had resolved, Lans recoiled. At first he'd thought that the power his friend had unleashed would simply fry the man in an extremely painful way, an example to would-be dissenters or some such move. The Empire had used such a tactic so many times with varying levels of success.

Instead, the old man seemed very much alive. Alive, and encased from head to toe by a disturbingly familiar suit of glossy black iron. There were no capes or horns, and in general it was far slimmer and less fancy-looking, but the rest of the similarities to Gares were yet enough to have Lans sink to his knees. "No... no..."

There was no sign of the mortal man who had been struck inside of that shell. He simply knelt down after several seconds, a glimmer of malevolent red behind the wide V-shaped visor the only sign that a man still dwelled within.

"_This_ is the power which is our birthright as Zenobians!", Emperor Destin proclaimed over the growing shouts of horror from the crowd. "The power of immortality which I shall awaken in you all! With it, we shall forge an eternal kingdom that shall stand for ten thousand years!"

Three more bolts shot from his right fist, and Lans lept but was unable to stop any of them. All he succeeded in doing was getting himself close enough to watch a shrieking red-haired woman taken head-on by it, subjected to a similar fate in the same amount of time, transformed into the exact same hulking state, dark metal and spikes and little else.

"No gender discrimination for our new Emperor, it would seem", Warren said over the din, seeing the desperate people fleeing from the four new evil-looking knights only to meet the equally menacing border guards who prevented their escape from the square. "Man and woman, the young and old. All are the same when enslaved to the power of the Dark."

"Please", Lans begged, his face pressed to the ground so as not to see the next volley of bolts transforming still more people into identically black-armoured thrall. How could Warren possibly joke about such terror? "No. No more. Make it stop. Take us away from this, I beg you!"

"As you wish", the Sage said, one bolt passing through him as he raised his hands. "You can probably guess the rest."

The scene blurred, becoming a cloud of motion too out-of-focus to make anything out of it. Then they were back again, standing as ghosts in the exact same place as before.

Only _not_. The sky above was covered with swatches of red and gray now, fuelled by the candles of a thousand burning buildings all around them, a literal inferno whose heat did not reach ghosts. Lans looked up, forcing himself up off the ground...

And saw_ himself_. Himself, clad in armour of milky white. Though burned in a great many places it still looked far stronger than his old blue custom. Himself, mirroring the emotions the last scene had wreaked upon his ghost.

Three of the same black-clad knights littered the square now, none of them moving. Lans saw there was one more, but as the abomination- had the thing once been someone's wife before the transformation? A father? Someone's son or daughter?- attacked, Lans saw his other self take that's one life as well with a single strike of a brilliantly glowing sword. Not Granbane?

"You've become a Paladin", Warren observed beside them, unaffected as ever by the savagery. "The last one left in the world. Congratulations."

"No", he trembled, having only eyes for the blank-eyed bodies and the wreckage all around them while his white-clad doppelganger healed his own injuries from the fight with Holy magic. "The city... all the people here..."

"All dead, or transformed into armoured thrall", Warren said harshly. "What need have they for cities? They need no food. They need no rest. They do not age. They are sustained by the Dark, and the will of their master and God-King."

"But everyone else", Lans asked, dreading the answer. "In the other districts...?"

Warren spread his hands. "They wait for the day when someone can save them from the cruelty of the new Emperor. They have waited, refugees cowering at the outskirts of their own country for many years. Waited for today."

Behind him, the 'new Emperor' he spoke of strode briskly from the castle ruins, having once again upgraded his armour to something even more formidable-looking than the last one. This one seemed the inverse-image of the 'other' Lans' white paladin armour, mainly black but covered in spiderweb lines of red, as if to remind someone of whom he used to be.

"Gilbert sends his regards", Emperor Faroda spoke through his helmet, unnervingly sounding the same as ever, if a bit colder. Lans would have preferred a wicked monster's voice for all the crimes he had committed.

The other Lans jolted with those words, nearly dropping Brunhild. "You killed him. He believed in you to the very end, and still you killed him."

The horned skull-helmet nodded, pitiless. "He fought well. As did the rest of your resistance before they fell. I of all people should have remembered just how hard rebels- _any_ rebels- fight when they're backed into a corner. Not that it made any difference in the end."

The air blurred once again, the city no longer only the city. Both men clenched their blades, ready to charge. Both the ghosts looked on, helpless. Then the other Lans slackened, his glowing blade listing off to one side.

"Sir Destin", he emphasized. "No. Not sir. Not even 'Destin'. The man named 'Destin', the man I called my brother, would never do what you have done! Yet... Somehow, I feel the need to give you a chance, even if you do not deserve it. Brother. Sheathe your weapon, brother. Release the dark power. _Repent_. Become our hope one final time, before it is extinguished forevermore."

"Still?", the Emperor sounded incredulous, though none could see his face well. "After all this time, you still believe in that?"

"I know it. Please. Do not make me do this."

"Then let me make it perfectly clear to you, Lans", the Emperor replied, driving one boot into the ground hard enough to break the cobblestone beneath it. "I am not your hero- there are none. I am not your hope- there is none. What I am... is a weapon. I finally realized that. I am a weapon, born and bred for conquest by the Gods."

"You're a _human being_, Destin!", Other Lans shrieked back at him.

"Am I? I've never seen another human as intelligent as I. I've never seen one as powerful. And...", the confidence his voice had held shifted then as his words slowed. Was it remorse that hindered him? Regret, perhaps? "...I've never known so many things that are a part of being human. I'm a weapon, Lans. Nothing more. We were fools not to see it earlier."

"Destin. You have known family, because you have known me. You are my sworn brother. And I... we cannot fight."

"Perhaps _you_ won't. Easier for me that way."

"This cannot be the only way!"

"The only one I see. Face me, Lans."

To the surprise of all witnesses living and non, Paladin Lans gave a sick little chuckle, lowering his visor so that his friend faced only an unyielding pearl-metal gaze. "Lancelot. That is what all the temples shall call me, when they speak of our legend."

"They'll sing of love and they'll sing of treachery", Destin agreed. "The fools will dedicate twenty pages to poetry describing the agony I shall put you through before I kill you, _brother_."

That open threat seemed to settle it, and in fact the Other Lans was the first one to lunge with speed and strength his current self had never known. The air blurred further as they fought, obscuring the details beyond mere flashes. The two could have traded one thousand blows and one thousand spells of light and dark magic each, it was impossible to tell for sure how long. Minutes? Hours?

When the image was stable again, Lans could see that the ten million souls crying out for vengeance had gotten their wish at last. Emperor Faroda splayed motionless on the ground, his blue eyes wide and empty, Brunhild sticking through his chest plate, pinning his armoured body to the ground before the entire scene dissolved into a featureless gray.

The gray became stone and the stone resolved into Warren's tower once again. "So now you know", the Sage said once Lans' head had stopped spinning out of control. "You know what it is that you must do."

"No", he whispered. Blood thundered through his head like an avalanche, and though he felt as though he would vomit he could not help but scream in denial. "No! NO! I cannot! I WILL NOT! He will not become... He will not become..."

"The future is not yet certain", the Sage admitted, raising the depleted knight up by his chin in a tone of serenity few had ever heard from him before.

"Yet, _if_ the Arcana's tale plays out,_ if_ Destin Faroda does indeed become what you saw... Then YOU will be the one to oppose his evil, Lancelot of house Hamilton, guard captain of Zenobia. You _will_ lead a new rebellion, become the people's new hope, one man against the Dark, and you _will _destroy him. You will kill him with your own hands... Because there shall be no one else left alive in the world who can undo our mistake."

* * *

The minutes rode past one after another in castle Kalbia's highest mezzanine, each seeing further damage inflicted the surroundings with no clear result even as Reldin and Guildus tried to contribute their own blades to the chaotic melee. One tower blasted apart, another showing signs of burn damage. The carpet beneath their feet had been torn apart by shocks of violently displaced air, the chandeliers and support pillars all smashed to bits until the very ceiling groaned with the strain.

Destin Faroda and Rowdain Figaro both stood, their swords at the ready no matter how fatigue weighed upon them. Taking a break in her healing chanting to take note of the streak of red ooze along Figaro's left flank, Norn Dias looked back at their leader in confusion to see how that had come to pass. Brunhild was now held in Destin's left hand, while the less-revered Kalanbolg lay in his right hand, enduring still.

To emphasize, the rebel swapped the two swords twice more between his hands in quick unison, fully ambidextrous. "The slightest shift", he said wearily. "You got too used to my right hand having a longer reach with Brunhild but a heavier weight. Changing that up messes with your muscle reflexes. It doesn't matter how strong you are."

"Brilliant", the Deva agreed, looking eerily happy about being cut. "_That's_ why you don't use equal-length swords. Besides the obvious reasons, anyway. That Brunhild truly is a marvelous bit of steel- I have no doubt now that the divine strength it grants you is the stuff of the old Zenobian legends." Drawing back to his full height, he bore his own blade up, flatter but still longer than either of Destin's blades. "Let's test its limits, shall we, Faroda?"

Then, like Debonair before him, he cut the frigid air in two. Only now it was not a semicircle of hazy blue which emerged from the gap in space-time, but something far larger. A golden sphere of energy flew across the hall towards the three, too large and unstable-looking to block. Cursing, the rebel lept clear of the attack, only to be propelled away from it into a wall as the sphere _detonated_, rocking the castle even as it knocked Norn and the others off their feet completely.

"Surprised?", the Deva laughed mockingly from the far end of the hall over the resulting din from the explosion. "All of us Deva learn their own spirit techniques as a part of our Trials. We call them the _Niebelung, _and they are personalized for each of our souls."

"Right", Reldin coughed, thinking back to the battle for the capital, or rather what he'd heard from other rebels who had been closer to the action that day and seen entire buildings laid waste there as well. "Like what Debonair did?"

"Yes indeed!", Figaro said, waving his sword around showily to keep all his foes at a distance. "His was called 'Blade'. Cale Previa calls his 'Blaze'. General Tanaburs Luvalon has 'Blitz'... And then of course, there's my explosive technique; 'Blast'. The power which you all have just witnessed, capable of slaying even Dragons in a single blow! Ya _like _it, Faroda? Huh? HUH? I hope so, 'cause it's the last _Niebelung_ you'll ever see! This time you're mine!"

"Thanks for the lesson", Destin called once he'd dusted himself off and readied both weapons to guard again. "I hope you don't expect payment or anything."

He grinned ear to ear. "Nah, teacher's pay sucks in Malano unless they pay in Malanian port. Probably why they all become merchants or assassins instead, eh? Enough gabbin' already!"

"I agree", the rebel said, releasing his own ace-in-the-hole, the _Phantom_ spell fuelled by his own surging hate for the man. Though better prepared for it than he had been and gifted with supernatural speed, Figaro could not evade all of the glowing ghost-heads that swarmed him, and several flew through his frame, each one taking tiny shreds of his vitality along with with it, and the knights were quick to take advantage of it, double-teaming him. Preparing the 'Blast' technique again to counter, he was brought up short by another attack taking him directly in the front- a spike of blue the same shade as his dead friend's technique, exploding the armour off one leg and hobbling him as it connected.

"I did it", Destin claimed proudly, dropping the smoking Kalanbolg before it burned his hands further. "I did it. The Iainuki. Nothing compared to a real Easterling samurai I'm sure, but the point is that like Brunhild, it caught you by surprise."

"Once", the Deva snarled, forcing himself to stand again. "Won't happen again. Come, Faroda. Come and die!" Lapsing back into silence for another few minutes, the four clashed back and forth, the two leaders occasionally releasing their respective vitality-draining techniques, which would prompt the other to do the same to cancel it out, further destroying the hall.

Three times Figaro's blade carved a line into Destin's body which looked too severe to ever be healed, but at least for now he could give back as well as he earned. And Figaro... Figaro was a True Believer, Norn remembered, suddenly feeling Kalbi's sub-zero chill much more acutely. Figaro would not retreat, he would not see reason as Kaus Debonair had done. Nor would he ever stop to obey or even consider the physical limitations of the human body. The four of them would work as one to finally bring the man down, every move processed and countered in the space of a few heartbeats-

_-Left descending slash, block and drive into chest, cut at blocking wristguard, hack at bone along the cuff-_

_-Spin out of counter, stance suggests another Niebelung, use Iainuki to neutralize and attack legs as he leaps-_

_-Ceiling is falling apart watch for falling debris, attack when target is distracted by noise with rising twin cut; one high, one low, switch blades back again-_

Impossibly in Reldin's eyes, Figaro seemed to be the first to tire further after several minutes of this. Dodging another rising cut from Brunhild he fell down upon his burst calf, balancing himself with his sword. Eight eyes were on Destin as he wavered, convinced it was merely another trap to bait them in. "Beautiful", the general clouded the air with his frozen breath, trying to use his off hand to obscure and stem the gash even as he laughed at the burning pain creeping up it. "Simply beautiful. Look at you go! Haven't felt this way since I sparred with Lord Hikash!"

"You're... unh... not so bad yourself", Destin found himself remarking, immensely relieved to see that the fight was at last nearing its close. Brunhild or no, Destiny's Child or no, his arms and legs were about to fall off. "Stang. All the same, I hope it won't hurt your feelings too much if I let Reldin and Guildus finish this. Sorry guys- I've nothing more to give."

Neither protested. But the 2nd Deva rocked with contented laughter no one could have guessed he still had the energy to project at them. "Hah... Idiot. Weapons... don't have feelings... to hurt."

As though he expected the confusion in the rebels' faces, Figaro finally gave up on his calf, letting it slide out to leave him unbalanced on the floor, and clutched at the place where his chest bled. He smiled through clenched teeth, raining blows down on the two remaining fighters as he spoke to Destin.

"The Goddess Freya, ya know... She created two kinds of mortals in Her world. The ones who give life, who are driven by heart and soul to find a mate, start a family with puppies, apple pie and all that wholesome dragon-piss... Then, there's guys like you and me, Faroda. The guys who take life, as naturally and easily as we breathe. Living weapons, participants in the cycle of life and death."

"Quite the mouthful for someone who's such a fight-fanatic", Guildus snapped at him. He did not consider himself zealously devoted to the Zenobian Gods despite a paladin's upbringing, but somehow the strange glow in the Zwei Deva's eyes gave him pause.

"Me?", Figaro pondered as if the idea was a new one. "Just honest about who I am is all! You, martyr, you're different. Different from all these wannabes who you've roped into your rebellion. You're like _us_."

Needing no more encouragement, Guildus motioned for Reldin to join him in preparing their own swords for the finishing blow. Figaro watched their cautious approach without attacks, only more words as his vocals gradually broke down, his voice becoming patchy and hoarse as they drew closer.

"Like the shining sword you hold, you are a divine weapon... Forged by forces not of this World... The path that you walk on... Every step of the way... Paved with the broken bones... Of your friends and enemies... Oh! If only you'd been raised Zeteginean, you would understand... Everything... Freya, Goddess of life and fertility... Yet, what the Goddess gives us, She takes away... Hers is a power... Before which other Gods and men alike... Are compelled to _kneel!_"

"Stop", the word flew from Norn's mouth before she realized its meaning. "Stop! Stop NOW! Something's wrong! He's not done!"

They paused, confused long enough for the final words of what sounded closer to an evocation than a prayer to Norn's ears to leave Figaro's slashed lips as he spread his arms to the sky. _"Blossom, O fallen seed, and draw upon thy hidden power! _FREYA_! Grant unto thee the power of the glorious Mother of Creation...!"_

The explosion sent both men flying back to crash into Destin and Norn, and for a moment it looked like it would bring the entire castle down with them as well. Through the resulting dust cloud came Rowdain Figaro, charging straight at them as though his grievous injuries no longer existed.

Eyes burning, he screamed words at the top of his lungs which sounded like curses but could have been anything as far as the four of them knew. None could react in time as the crazed general swung his sword back, ready to remove Destin's head with a single blinding swing... the blade stopping inches away from his head. Along with the entire body of the one who wielded it.

"I...", the Deva whispered and fell back, abruptly jolted into his previous condition and more besides. "Lose...? I... lose? Impossible. Impossible, I am... I AM... I... F-father."

Without saying anything more, the man toppled like a tree. Reldin was the first to climb back to his feet, the androgynous knight removing his helmet to look over the Deva for some sign of what had caused the sudden surge of energy. Or what had abruptly ended it along with Figaro's life, for the first thing he noticed was a complete lack of pulse.

"It's done, my lord", he spoke while checking the body over, as if trying hard to convince the others- or himself- that this was not a dream. "It's finally over. For the first time in a quarter-century, one of the Four Deva has fallen in battle." Destin did not respond, already sinking into an exhausted delirium without much movement and no words possible. Looking closer at his opponent, Guildus noticed an odd feather-shaped mark on the Deva's left ribcage, seared into his pale skin as though it had been branded there by extreme heat.

"It wasn't there before", the paladin noted to Norn in morbid curiosity. "That was where he was touching his own skin whilst reciting the prayer. Some kind of magical stimulation, mayhap?"

"Whatever it was", the young monk noted sadly. "It didn't work. It drove Figaro mad, killed him just before he could finish us. Like the spirit techniques you use, it has a price to pay. Even the Deva have limits to their lifespans. Now, though, we must attend to our own injured."

So they departed, the two men carrying Destin's ravaged body out into the snow, leaving Rowdain Figaro staring up past a destroyed ceiling at the stars above where he lay.

* * *

M: This one had a lot of reworking done, but hopefully I've dropped the big plot-bombs (and many Easter Eggs) in an effective way here. Kalibi Penninsula really doesn't have much going on with it except Figaro hell-bent on avenging Debonair, so it's an opportunity to develop subplots. Please review.


	17. Can I Stain My Hands?

**Can I Stain My Hands...?**

* * *

**Tarot XV - Devil**

_The Fool comes to the foot of an enormous black mountain where reigns a creature half goat, half god. At his hooves, naked people linked to the god's throne by chains, engage in every indulgence imaginable: sex, drugs, food, gold, drink. The closer the Fool gets, the more he feels his own earthly desires rising in him. Lust, passion, obsession, greed. "I refuse to give in to you!" he roars at the Goat-god, resisting with all his might. The creature returns a curious look. "All I am doing is bringing out what is already in you," the beast responds. "Such base feelings are nothing to fear, nothing to be ashamed of, or even to avoid." The Fool gestures angrily at the chained men and women, "You say that even though they are enslaved?" The Goat-god mimics the Fool's gesture. "Take another look." _

_The Fool does so, and realizes with a shock that the chained collars the men and women wear are wide enough for them to easily slip off over their heads. "They can be free if they choose to be," the Goat-god says, "Though you are right. I am the god of your strongest desires. But you see here only those who have allowed their bestial desires to control them." At this the Goat-god gestures upward, toward the peak of the mountain. "You do not see those who have allowed their impulses and aspirations to take them up to the top of that mountain. Inhibitions can enslave as easily as excesses. They can keep you from following your passion to the highest heights." The Fool realizes the truth in this, and that he has mistaken the Goat-god. Here he understands now that it is not a creature of evil, but of great power, the lowest and the highest, both of beast and god. Like all power it is frightening, and dangerous... but it is also the key to freedom and transcendence if understood and well used._

* * *

MALANO PALACE, EAST WING

Baron Muller Apros stared out the windows of his palace in the heart of the city to the spread of housing beyond. Though not a worldly man by any means, he knew very well just how much more lay out there beyond the capital's high stone walls, beyond the province in which it lay and past the borders of his country and the other kingdoms with which it had regular contact. Other kingdoms, even more exotic than Denueve's strange-seeming Orders of ninja and samurai, lived far from this continent, separated from him by vast oceans that few men dared cross.

The single common denominator of all these kingdoms, regardless of distance or time... was monetary wealth, no matter the name or shape of the coin. While normally staring out his largest and most expensive windows like this allowed him to fantasize controlling all the wealth of foreign nations such as Valeria or Lodis or even far-off Ivalice, now the thought of the vastness of the world made him only depressed, the large turquoise-haired man hunched over on the steps leading up to the menagerie, his meaty head in his hands. Where in all the vast world, he wondered idly, had his destined bride gone?

The disappearance had been discovered mere hours ago by a very unfortunate servant girl sent to check on Rauny Vinzalf to see if she needed help with anything. The servant had found a woman wearing Rauny's dress true, one who had managed to put off looking anyone face to face for a good ten hours before being found out. That left more than enough time for an energetic and clever bawd- the princess to the letter- to sneak out in the other woman's peasant clothes.

Unsurprisingly, her father the Supreme Overlord had been furious, while Apros had been beside himself in worry. The ceremony was to take place tomorrow! Most of the big-name guests, merchant lords from all across the Empire, had already made the trip here to witness Malano's wealthiest and most prestigious merchant lord join with the Overlord's daughter in holy matrimony. What humiliation he would suffer if the ceremony were to be cancelled! Worse yet, how much money would be wasted if the bride was lost for good! It was intolerable. He needed something to relieve the tension, and for once regretted killing Rauny's accomplice for her treason.

As though some perverse deity had heard his wish, Hikash Vinzalf stalked through the doors into the chamber, followed by a retinue of nervously gibbering servants and guards, none of which could have stopped him from barging in like this. Exasperated, Apros shooed all but the guards away, preferring to deal with Hikash before resorting to the oldest way of forgetting one's sorrows. "No sign, sir Hikash?"

"None, lord Apros", the Overlord grunted, bowing on one knee. "I'm so sorry about this. I knew she was headstrong, but I didn't think she'd go this far. I've already set the 5th Legion to sweeping the capital grounds for her, and the 6th to prevent any escape from them. Hopefully, she hasn't gotten that far yet. We'll find her."

"I should hope so", the Baron sniffed. "I'm not accustomed to being hoodwinked on a deal like this. Among my people, we have rules and penalties for that sort of thing." He paused there, waiting for the inherent insult to penetrate the Overlord's thick skull. "Either you find the princess, find some way to persuade her, or you can tell your Empress that we're done here. I'll not be stood up by the likes of you."

Fortunately for the Baron, Hikash had spent a lifetime in the Zeteginean court dealing with men equally as wealthy and pampered, and so he did not offer even a hint of the anger he felt. "While searching, lord, I did stumble upon some rumour with a possible connection to my daughter's disappearance. Know anything about a Prince Tristan?"

The way his glossy eyes shot wide was all the Overlord needed to see. "I see. So he is here."

"Now. Now see here, Hikash, I-"

But the colossal man cut him off with ease. "Come now, Baron. You can't tell me you didn't know of the Empire's extermination policy towards Zenobian royals. If your people had even the slightest hint that Fichs Tristoram Zenobia was in fact alive and hiding out in this country, then you were obligated to contact us about it. Was that not one of the provisions of our alliance?"

"I-I-I-!"

"Of course, I know why you didn't, if you knew.", the Overlord went on, now beginning to enjoy himself with the sight of the Baron sputtering like a beached trout despite current circumstances. "Telling us such a thing would invite heavy scrutiny by our people in order to locate any trace of the prince. The kind of scrutiny that blocks roads and trade routes, disrupts your precious commerce with checkpoints and searches. After all, the_ last_ thing you want is a bunch of dirty, battle-crazed Highlanders tromping around the place scaring off potential investors, am I right?"

"I felt it unwise, sir Hikash", Apros protested, finally able to get a word in. "To bother your military with unfounded rumours. Everyone I spoke to said they saw the execution twenty-five years ago, plain as day! Who am I to disavow their faith?"

"They saw five children decapitated by the hand of the traitor Captain Ashe", Hikash mused aloud, though it was clear it was not a fond memory for him either. "Three girls, and two boys. But we may not have bothered to check closely exactly _which_ boys. It is possible that Prince Tristan may yet have survived."

"Lies!", the Baron insisted shrilly. "Lies designed to waste your resources chasing down shadows when it was imperative that you keep your focus upon Lodis! Don't think I've forgotten about that either, sir Hikash. I myself fronted millions of Goth to help you pay for your armies, and now you've gone and wasted it fighting some tinpot rebel band."

Hikash only seemed amused at this notion, palming his great beard. "Not wasted, Baron. The army is still here. In your backyard. Still many thousands strong, while the rebels only consist of a few hundreds. My primary concern right now is keeping them all fed after how this year's harvest went. Four thousand troops aren't much earthly use if they haven't eaten in three days."

"You needn't worry", Apros waved him off. "Within these walls lies enough foodstuffs to feed your people for years. So long as you pay for it, of course."

"Yes", Hikash pointed out, not bothering to bring up that they could easily confiscate the food they needed under the War Measures Act. "But not everywhere we travel possesses a cellar of such size. Salt and spices only go so far to prevent food from spoiling. Until the next harvest, we are limited by our supply lines. Our best hope is that we pretend nothing is wrong, that we can send our full strength against the rebels any time."

"Second", the Baron demanded. "First, you find my bride, and bring her back here. Or your Empress will be hearing some very unpleasant reminders of how much you need us."

Initially the Overlord considered such a threat as ludicrous as everything else the Baron did, but it was true that without Malano's cooperation and the tremendous wealth and power which the Baron's family had accumulated here, the army's reach would be even more limited. _We shall serve, for now, _he consoled himself. _Until such a time when our own stockades are replenished, and the rebellion is but an unpleasant memory._

Easy enough to think of, but Hikash knew now that this was not just some band of lowly peasants. Some of the best known warriors from Zenobia and beyond had joined Destin Faroda's cause. Canopus 'Wind Rider' Walf was the first to come to his mind, but he'd also heard rumours that Captain Valerin Ashe had returned from the dead and somehow convinced own his people not to kill him on sight. A veteran of the first war, old Ashe might prove just as canny a tactician as Hikash himself if he'd stayed sharp all this time.

Beyond that, there were the mercenaries Selec Fubuki and Galnam Lyon, both of them known to be fiercely independent men who would never have joined a larger army for anything less than enormous loads of Goth. _Goth..._

"Baron. There _is_ one other thing we could do to track down Rauny."

"Which is?"

Hikash grimaced. There was no way he could be convinced to pay for this plan himself, but the Imperial war chest would certainly suffice. "I speak of those mercenaries not yet taken on by the rebellion. Unlike the regular army we're not required to provide them with supplies- they get by on their own."

Drawing back, Apros looked understandably shocked. "Thus speaks the proud and just commander of the Imperial army?"

"It's my daughter, we're talking about, Baron", the Overlord snapped. "My _Rauncorintha_ would not have deserted us without reason. Someone must have gotten to her, convinced her to abandon her responsibilities to her people. There are two I could name, and many others whom I am sure you could. So tell me- know anyone around here we can count on? Anyone we might take a closer look at?"

Swallowing as if he'd just eaten a dagger, the Baron made a show of thinking it over, picking at his shoulder pads to hide his triumph. "Toad, lord. The alias of a rogue merchant who operates outside of Imperial regulations or Malanian law, marketing rare magical artifacts to any who pay for them, not merely the army or collectors like myself. In fact much of his merchandise is stolen from other nobles, and I wouldn't put it past a scoundrel like him to treat your daughter as saleable merchandise."

"If it is the case, this 'Toad' is in for a rude surprise", Hikash said with relish. "No man can control my Rauny against her will. Not even I can. But suggestion noted. Anyone else?"

The Baron proceeded to rattle off the names of his top three political rivals, and the Overlord continued to nod and pretend to listen closely to each. "And the bounty hunters, Baron? What know you of them?"

He stared out his window again to avoid facing the Overlord. Pretending to be innocent in such dealings would only make Hikash angry. Everyone with a spy network worth a damn knew about Apros' tendency to hire assassins targeting any who displeased him. His top political rivals only remained that way due to the extensive precautions that each of them took against assassins, and vice versa. That was just how you did things in Malano. "Sadly, my lord, I've already placed my top clients on different tasks in Deneuve. I wouldn't trust anyone but them with a task of such importance."

"Can they not be recalled?"

Apros shook his beefy head. "Alas. The contract of the mercenary is nearly as strict as that of the Samurai Order in that regard. Until a task is completed they may not accept another, so as to prevent conflicts of interest while undertaking multiple jobs. More importantly, they tend not to contact me again until the job is complete, leaving me no way to contact them back." Aside from the black market channels, which he dared not reveal to the Overlord...

"Then I guess we have no choice", Hikash sat up again, now towering over the Baron. "You stay here, Baron. We'll investigate the sources you mentioned. If Rauny's out here, we'll find her."

The man's metal-booted footsteps helped Apros determine just when he was far enough away to be safe, at which point he checked the window _behind_ him. Sure enough, someone had left a single black feather on the brick sill, and he rushed to open it up, fiddling with the locks a moment before simply prying it off- Hikash was not the only man in the palace who liked to keep themselves in top shape, though admittedly he would crush the Baron in a fair fight.

For a moment Apros wondered how the man he'd invited in would fare in such a dream duel. Two voluminous spreads of the same kind of black feathers covered the mercenary's back like a great cloak, and his tunic and bandana mirrored that colour theme with various shades of dark gray from top to bottom. The man's spikey yellow hair was the only bright point on his entire body, unless one counted the glossy black metal club he carried with him.

A pity it could never be risked. Too expensive a proposition should the Raven Man lose. Apros had not lied to Hikash about most of his clients- only one of them. His best one. "My apologies, God of War. Hikash would not be denied an audience with me under any circumstances. I did not give him anything that would threaten our deal."

"Wouldn't matter", the bird man mercenary spoke up in a crisply biting tone that always suggested intense dislike for the one he addressed, though Apros had known him long enough to know that was how he spoke to everyone. "I'm faster than any Imperial slug. You have the target location, then?"

Apros nodded, offering the man a glass of champagne but immediately being turned down. "The staff at the east guard station reported a woman in a cloak escaping through their checkpoint mere hours ago. Backstabbing weasels demanded extra pay for their silence too. I certainly hope you're not like them."

Ares looked offended at the mere suggestion, raising both wings stiff as scythes to clear the dust off. "A deal's a deal. 100,000 Goth. All in advance."

Apros dropped his own glass, thankfully on the rug instead of the tile though still it stained. "I never agreed to that."

Ares looked at him hard and raised his left arm to reveal a bloodstain. A semi-fresh one which could not have been more than two days old. "Times change, Baron. My last client tried to save themselves my fee. Didn't help 'em in the end. So, new policy."

"If it's in advance", the Baron protested, mopping up the liquid so as not to attract the servants. "Then it should be less. What if you die?"

The club shot out, threatening to crack his skull. "100,000 Goth. That was the arrangement, though I really should charge you more considering you want her alive, Baron. That's always harder, especially considering this target's fighting skills."

Replacing the glass in the tray, Apros considered the alternative within a second's breath and dismissed it within the next. Certainly it would not be hard for his finest assassin to kill the girl, then plant sufficient evidence to push the blame for it onto the rebellion, thus inciting Overlord Hikash into pursuing more aggressive action against them...

But where would that leave him? High and dry with no bride to link him to the Empire's command echelon and nothing separating him from any other merchant lord save that he would be made a great deal poorer and less respected than he had been. No. Better to stick with the original plan. "No. She's no good to me dead. 10,000 Goth in advance, 80,000 upon safe- and discreet- delivery."

But the mercenary frowned. "You have millions of Goth in your vaults, Baron, and more tax money coming in all the time. I know- I've been in there. 65,000 in advance, 45,000 after."

"Millions which are currently being accredited towards my wedding despite the fact that the bride has gone _missing_. 40,000 in advance, 40,000 again when you're done."

"The Baron likes his little joke. Half in advance, no change to the fee."

"Done", he breathed out at last, realizing how unwise it would be to haggle further with the sullen bird man. Too violent and greedy even for his own clan, the famous exiled hunter who had earned the nickname of the War God 'Ares' trusted no one and expected no trust in return. "Allow no one but me to see you."

"Of course not", Ares agreed. "What did you expect? I just hope you're not getting any ideas with that _derr'mo_ you sold Hikash. Try what I think you're setting up, and you'll regret it."

"You...?" Getting it, the Baron chuckled merrily and dug through his pouch. The bird-people all possessed excellent hearing- of course Ares had heard their talk, even from his hiding spot. "Never, my winged friend. I just want to be the one who successfully brings my bride home to roost."

"Ah", the bird man remarked, taking an experienced whiff of what was contained within the phial. "You _do_ think ahead, Baron. Zeichten herbs from Balmorra. Enough to render her docile and suggestive for the duration of the ceremony when ground into powder and inhaled. She'll do anything you say. Complete control for at least twenty-four hours, I've heard."

Apros nodded. Albeleo Kaisse had charged much for their delivery, but he could afford it. "Unlike Hikash, I harbour no illusions of the Lady Vinzalf's true allegiance. The poor princess' spent too long on the battlefield. She has no idea what's good for her. How necessary this is, politically. She made that clear when she duped her own father and snuck away in the night like a common thief."

"So that's why you want to be the one who 'rescues' her", Ares deduced, not caring comment on the implications of such a betrothal. "Hikash will owe you big."

"Exactly", Apros smiled, glad to have someone around here who could appreciate his genius. "I'll have found and tamed his shrew. More importantly, I'll be in the perfect position to become the Empire's head treasurer." Apros contented himself with that far-off dream, rubbing his hands and brushing his blue smock of hair back wet, as if already expecting the marriage to occur soon. It had been his star of destiny, lo, for many years. "For all the fancy titles which they invent for themselves, the true master of any government has _always_ been the one who controls that government's purse strings. So go, Ares. Find me my bride, and bring her back where she belongs."

The mercenary nodded, running and jumping into a glide back out the window, silent as a ghost as he flew for the Valley of Kastro to the far east.

* * *

REBEL CAMPSITE, KALBI PENNINSULA WEST

"It's called the Embrace of Freya", Norn Dias noted while patching Destin's wounds over breakfast. Not far away, another Shaman was watching while healing another to ensure that she made no surreptitious moves. "It's the last-ditch power of the Deva, and one I never would have expected_ Rowdain_ to use, even in death."

"Argh... He implied something like that, yes", Destin grunted over the pain of the salve pressing on his left rib where Figaro had gored him. "But..."

Norn withdrew a pace from the small cot, confused for a moment before pressing her own palm to Destin's exposed heart, noting how several of the rebels who had not been watching her before were now listening with great interest. "You need not refrain speaking of Kaus around me. Now that I know the truth, I bear you no ill will, and I promised to stay with you until we learned what truly happened to him. Rowdain was Kaus' friend as well... But we disliked each other, only pretending to get along when he was around."

"Thank you", he gasped, heaving. The medication had left his left shoulder burning, but in the numb way that suggested she knew what she was doing. "Why did Debonair not use it when we fought?"

"Because even among the Deva, it is a risky decision to make", Norn explained to the small gathering. "I cannot be certain what exactly causes it- I was never initiated into the deepest mysteries of the Goddess- but I know that triggering their 'Plume' brings the user into a kind of trance, a berserker state where speed, strength and senses are all enhanced even further beyond those of normal humans. A Deva using it is nearly unstoppable."

"That feather tattoo", the wizard Nybbas noted from his perch on a slight incline. "He touched it while invoking Freya's name."

"That was a Plume", Norn explained. "They claim it transforms them into a living avatar of the Goddess. But like I said, it is a great risk. Not only is it extremely taxing on the system- as you saw when Rowdain died _because_ of it- but it leaves the user in a state of screaming madness where they cannot distinguish friend or foe. Furthermore, every time it is used there is a chance that they will be unable to regain their lucidity, trapped forever in a state of animal rage."

"Heavy", was all sir Reldin could think to say. The others could tell he was already picturing Debonair's handsome features contorted into that same terrible rage.

"Indeed", the merchant princess agreed sombrely. "In fact, my father told me that is how his friend General Galileo met his end before the war, forcing Lord Hikash to put him down. Rowdain's father", she offered after seeing confusion on several faces. "That was what finally elevated his son to Deva status, the same which Galileo had held before the Embrace drove him mad."

"No wonder Debonair didn't use it", a shaman said, one of the few who had stuck with the rebellion from the very beginning and survived the whole way. "Still, at least now we know to expect it. Two more to go, eh?"

"Assuming they don't promote anyone else to that position, yes", Destin agreed. "Anyway, we shouldn't have to worry about them just yet. Last we checked, Previa was guarding Antalia and Luvalon was at Fort Allamoot. Unless things have changed drastically since the last time our runners checked, we're not heading to either of those places yet. Neither do we have the time to help Belgen. They shall have to fend for themselves."

"Where, then?", Norn asked, brushing hair from her snow-blown eyes.

"Balmorra", the rebel leader proclaimed, trying to sit up now without showing too much pain in his face. "I know I know, suicide coming that close to the capital, right? The enemy won't have a reliable supply chain for another few months at least, so it's worthwhile for us to be aggressive now. It's the top source of stone and metals in that country- it shall grant us the means to replace many damaged swords and armour instead of relying on merchants for everything, paying their inflated prices."

"That Toad character wasn't so bad though", sir Ordas remarked from the tent flap. "He certainly seemed interested in helping us any way he could. Gave us that stone for a discount, even."

"A discount we only have his word to go on", Destin echoed wryly. Still, the unsavoury trader had been of great use lately, having scrounged up a rare item he had at first thought to be a Zodiac Stone for only a Sentoul Demon, as well as a sinister-looking staff said to hold great power for mere Goth. While that was not the case, the stone was instead reputed to have an enchantment that allowed humans to speak directly with the dragonkin instead of relying on improvised communications. Confessing to his personal shame, Gilbert was now experimenting on Quenaya with the 'Stone of Dragos' to see if he had at last learned to tame dragons.

"We do have allies here, m'lord", Lyon said, though strangely devoid of his usual good cheer. "There's a number of merchant lords in Malano who resent the way the Empire seized control of their businesses. One of them might have sent the Toad to help us."

"Less obvious than just sending us a bag of Goth at any rate", Ordas said, shaking an empty money pouch sadly. Tributes from Kalbi and Diaspola had been slim, understandable but no less inconvenient. With the way the rebellion's demands had grown over time, eclipsing even the dwindling charity of Zenobia, that was no doubt another reason why Destin had suggested such a rich target. "Who's in charge over there?"

"Albeleo, kid", Fubuki spoke up as he returned from his patrol, prompting Lyon's division to depart and replace it. "It is Albeleo Kaisse, the most powerful student of Rashidi, who runs Balmorra now."

Norn made a disgusted face. "Another sociopath elevated to status he should never have been trusted with. A real lady killer too, I hear. He's turned that province into his own personal laboratory for the manufacture of golems."

"Just like Kapella", Destin recalled, hoping against fate that the second pupil could be taken down the same way. "Only with Karmatic magic instead of Arcane. We know how to deal with golems, at any rate. Base our defences around Tsuno's wizards, and keep Canopus' flight close to us."

"_Us_", he paled. "You're not serious."

"I am", the rebel shot back, trying to vault out of the cot in demonstration but nearly falling over. "The Empire won't wait, and I'm not making my people go and fight a battle I'm much more likely to survive."

"Same old song", the samurai condemned. "Was it that logic which made you try to fight Figaro alone, I wonder."

"Hey we know you're bitter, Selec", Ordas waved it away. "The problem here is with the boss, not you."

He looked around, realizing just how many of them echoed that sentiment. Where had the innocent faces gone, the youngsters who believed in him and did whatever he asked? "I fought alone because Figaro would have killed any of the rest of you with a single blow", Destin tried. "We all know by now- Destiny has my back."

"And your front?"

They all chuckled a little. Very little.

* * *

BALMORRAN COUNTRYSIDE

Like the upper reaches of Diaspola, Balmorra lay shrouded in a cool mist limiting what the rebels could see as they marched down the trail out of the snowfields. Elation at leaving the magically-frozen land was replaced by mistrust of the various statues and dilapidated ruins poking up through the gloom. Just as expected, the small patrol which Tsuno's division stumbled in on after crossing the channel bordering it consisted of two golems of the same texture and perenatural toughness as the late Talos, overseen by two junior doll mages who died much faster than their charges.

"Only a test", Ashe warned them after seeing many faces satisfied with that victory. Even seeing statues with limbs or heads missing did not throw the young ones much. "Don't be too proud now. I know Albeleo. He's just as much the demented schemer as his master. For all we know, that patrol was deliberately placed near the channel to make us overconfident."

"We shan't be", Destin promised during their stopover in the city of Vaskallah. Like most of Balmorra's residences, it showed signs here and there of having once been much larger, thick gray stone architecture which had once been interlinked with the others into one single grand kingdom but now lay buried by earth and time. Upon one large chime lay engraved the words. '_Wru lu ruq, Wru lu wylfh, dug aedsh ryw wq wkh Truth_.' "Any ideas what else he might send our way?"

Ashe sat, plucking his beard while refusing to look directly at Destin. "Dragons, I should think. Albeleo is eternally obsessed with developing a reliable means of controlling them without having to earn their trust first. He regularly pursues rumours of the hidden sanctuary which the dragonkin supposedly created for themselves after losing Avalon to humans, the Dragon's Haven."

"All the more reason to have our own ready to go", he reasoned back, again glad to have given Gilbert the stone. "The name?"

"Her name is Verlaine", Gilbert responded, speaking of the new dragon he had found and brought over to the rebel side as a test of his new talents. "She lived most of her life alone on the Kalbi Penninsula after her parents were slain by General Figaro for sport."

"Verlaine, Mischa and Quenaya, together then", Destin ordered of their surviving dragons. "Even if their breath doesn't work on the golems, they can at least distract long enough for our people to land the killing blow."

"A beeline for the enemy leader, then?", Gilbert asked in concern. "Like at Kalbi?"

"Not like at Kalbi", Destin seemed offended. "Not a battle line either. Albeleo's more clever than Figaro by far. Furthermore, his castle lies on a secluded isle to the north, blunting any land rush we might try. What I propose is this." He pointed through the mist outside the city walls, indicating the faint glows which the people of that land hung as guideposts to the other cities in the province.

"We spread out towards the others, holding Canopus, Tsuno, Lyon and Gilbert in reserve. I've also placed Halla's undead under Fubuki's temporary command, so that they will act as early warning scouts since the fliers cannot here due to the mist. Too, at night sir Neralai's sense of smell shall guide Gilbert in following us in. Our main goal is to attack and control as many locations as possible, so that Albeleo's army will head out to take them back from us. However their golems are slow, and the acolytes not accustomed to hard marches through swampland. When this night lifts, we shall all surround the forces we have drawn out, destroying them and making the final charge easier."

"Why not just burn another town and lure them there?", Fubuki grunted, realizing too late what a mistake that was. Destin automatically rose, grabbing the samurai by the neck and choking right through the armour. "While you may not be able to grasp the nuances of justice", he barked into the plate mask. "We don't destroy those we are seeking to liberate, not while I am in command. Am I understood?"

"No", Ashe stood, looking mournful but strangely empowered by the way Fubuki had blurted out what was on everyone's minds. "I'm afraid I _don't _understand you, lad. We ignored Belgen on your orders. We let it burn. We attacked Kalbi solely for revenge on Figaro. You say one thing and do another. You use the power of the Black Knights to destroy your enemies instead of trying to talk sense with them. Where _is_ Chamise, Destin? Where is he? Why will Lyon not tell us?"

Seeing how the tide was changing, he dropped Fubuki, looked around to see that Lyon was not present. "He died in the battle to take Diaspola, Ashe. As his handler will tell you if you ask him."

Another mistake- Ashe looked mortally wounded at the lie. "Lyon has not smiled since then", he accused. "He knows something. Something which you have expressly forbidden him to say. Canopus, too, has not spoken more than two words since the Kastolation Sea. The Roshian Order preaches your downfall to all who listen. You cannot-"

"_Enough_", he slammed one steel boot down, not grabbing the old man as he'd done with Fubuki, but equally as imposing. They'd discussed this in many ways and forms already, and he hated Ashe for making him repeat himself.

"We must _not_ bicker. Not while the Empire lives, and certainly not while we are still so badly outnumbered." Instinctively, he began to pace back and forth, wide-eyed, catching the eyes of even the barkeep. "Have I not proven my dedication to you all by now? Have I not shown that I would never send you to your deaths if it could be helped, that I would always take the brunt of the pain for you? I have suffered. I have not slept. I have laboured and worked, harder and longer than any of you!"

"We do not doubt that, m'lord Destin", Sara Ellgwyr found the courage to speak up against their leader's growing fury. "Only that-"

"Do _not _call me Lord, shaman", he snapped, causing the southerling to retreat several steps. "Not until you actually mean it. The same goes for the rest of you too. The one you call your Lord is someone whom you respect and whose guidance you follow, above all else. Every order I have made in my time as your leader, _everything_, was to minimize _your_ pain and maximize our chances to win. Do you not see that?"

No one responded audibly now, though could plenty of signs of whispering. "Of course you don't", he picked up again, sounding further disgusted. "You all hide away your feelings, whisper things behind my back as though I were some Goth-grubbing governor. You pay tribute to a corrupt Church which advocates the abandonment of your one true HOPE!"

"Destin!" Now Aisha stood up at the back, moving forward in tearful desperation. "Destin! Please, stop. You've said enough already."

The look on his face disagreed, but Destiny's Child did pause a moment before speaking in a more focused tone, one equally as wrathful. "There are a thousand other things I _could_ say, Lady Aisha, but you are far too young to hear most of them."

"Destin", a more reserved voice came and for a moment he thought it was Lans hiding amongst the crowd. It was Gilbert instead, decked out in new armour to fit his new role, but a familiar sadness spread over his face, the same melancholy he'd borne when forced to fight for the Empire at Sharom. "Understand that Valerin only wishes to voice our concerns. He means no offence."

"Don't worry about it, Gilbert", the rebel said, suddenly deflated and weary of the sight of tense faces. "Weapons do not have feelings, after all. Follow my plan, or do not follow it. Maybe after a few more of you die, you shall learn better than to doubt my word."

* * *

Despite the angry rant that would no doubt become the stuff of legends in the Balmorra region's cafes and breweries, all of the rebels' division leaders stuck to the plan. Each division not part of the main body chose one path to take through the rest of the province, and each one was met with ample resistance once they attempted to liberate additional cities. As Selec Fubuki's augmented group came upon a pack of griffins carrying accomplished beast tamers on their backs, Ashe's division duelled against a pack of traitorous samurai while Aisha, Guildus, Mildain and Norn found themselves pitted against a mix of green dragons and novice wizards using the swamps as cover.

Destin's own personal division knew none of this, only finding empty fog and the occasional hilltop as they travelled the statue-covered land. None of them dared ask their leader what he believed had happened, or suggest out loud that perhaps the enemy was luring them into a false confidence as Ashe had claimed. They marched on through the dead of night until, as they crossed a bridge towards the town of Ayak'Cho, the trap was sprung.

The first sign, a faint tremor of the supports as they crossed the bridge, did not register. The second, third, and fourth all came about as one, giving no time to react to them individually. The fog ahead parted, revealing the unwelcome sight of three mages, yellow robes clashing with the Imperial red of their sashes. Rumbling on either side of the bridge the division stood on translated into two rising mounds of dark rock, emerging as river-soaked golems raising their fists in 'greeting' on either side of the bridge. As a final touch, an insane cackling on the other riverbank drew Harrison Ordas' attention to several skeletons pulling themselves up out of the ground, unburrowing from the marshland the rebels had just crossed only moments ago. Their bones seemed discoloured, or perhaps it was only an effect of the mist.

"Shit!", Destin exclaimed along with half his division. "A trap! Everyone fall back towards the skeletons! Sara, banish them fast!"

The lead mage showed no intention of being cheated of his prize after such a thorough ambush, raising his staff with his two allies to unleash the might of the Lebor Bretnach in a combined wave of ice, lightning, and wind which even Destin and one of the other knights working together could not block completely, washing over the rest in turn. The golems, though slow as ever, rumbled over to strike the bridge supports with their wrecking ball fists. There was a deep cracking as the first four beams went and the rest of the rebels scrambled back, then the last two followed suit of their own accord, dislodging the entire wooden construction to splash into the river eight feet down.

As sir Ordas looked back, the young knight realized that Destin was nowhere to be seen. There was no time to question it- another volley of spells missed him by inches, and then they were among the skeletons, who were demonstrating unusual resistance to Sara's holy power. Remembering their alternative at the last moment, Ordas drew the Mystic Axe, warding the undead back long enough for Sara to finish chanting and release all but one of those unfortunate souls.

"A new kind of undead", she recognized, staring down the last one's empty sockets before it charged. "Destin said that they were creating stronger types down in Antalia."

"And the golems?", one of the knights asked frantically.

Ordas didn't let that distract him. He waited patiently for the cackling pile of bones before him to leave itself open before bringing the Mystic axe down and wheeling about to see the two hulking creatures headed their way, along with a barrage of fireballs from the other side of the river which he could not take his eyes off of. The river which their Hope had fallen into. The river which flowed strong, all the way to Kalayao and beyond. _Damn Albeleo._

"We retreat. Retreat for now, let Ashe and the others know what's happened."

Though they obeyed the order without hesitation or question, Ordas_ felt_ the distasteful looks and whispers rather than seeing or hearing them. Had it been someone else, he might have been one of the ones whispering. 2nd in command or not, he was still young. Inexperienced. What was he as a division leader, compared to Destiny's Child?

To Hell with what they thought, he decided suddenly. If the Gods decreed that he should take the reins of the 1st division, then he owed it to Destin to do the very best he could until his return. And he _would_ return. He would. He had to. The alternative was too horrible to contemplate.

* * *

TRADE CITY WALLAS

"Who was this guy anyway?", Galnam Lyon asked in rare curiosity. "Seems like every town in this place has a statue of him around."

The statue was indeed an impressive bit of sculpting despite being mass-produced, a depiction of a hunched wizard with a completely vertical beard past his chest. Ashe lowered his visor by reflex, cursing the man's ignorance of culture even though none of the Balmorrans looked offended, only scared. "If I'm not mistaken, that is a bust of Saradin Carm. The Truthsayer. The liberator of Balmorra. And a student of Sage Rashidi."

That last one got the Beast Tamer's attention. "Whoa. Do they know that?"

He could not say for sure, only guess from the bits of tales he'd heard, as well as the cold way the Balmorrans had treated their new occupiers so far. There had been no tributes yet, and that was making Lyon's fellow sell-swords more than a little anxious. "I might guess it is the only way they were willing to accept Albeleo to begin with. The people here were raised on Saradin's teachings. Here is the only place they might have trusted him, at least until his true colours were revealed."

"Should've known from Rashidi", Lyon remarked, kicking the statue and ignoring the angry stares he got. "_Wizards_. Dunno 'bout you, but in my experience they're all the same."

"In that, we differ", Ashe placated, moving him away from the statue. "You are certain you don't wish to tell us the truth now? Destin Faroda cannot hear you here."

He became sullen almost immediately. If nothing else, bringing up this topic was an excellent way to get him to quiet down. "I told you already, hoss- Chamise died at Diaspola. Punk Valkyrie took a lance to him, pierced his heart. The end."

"So he would have us believe", the old knight said as neutrally as possible. "And you should not believe that all the deeds of Rashidi Light are bad either. Lest we forget, he helped to create Zenobia."

"And destroy it."

He studied their resting men, wondering for a moment if Lans Hamilton had been killed and Lyon was channeling his spirit, for he could recall covering almost this exact topic with him. The young ones, the people who had spent the majority of their lives under the Empire, would not be nearly as forgiving as he of the Sage of Light. For even after all that had happened, he wanted to believe it had happened for a reason.

"And destroy it. But the Truthsayer was not like that. His magic drove away the Hill Giants who had destroyed this ancient kingdom and lived there ever since, making it into a haven for archeologists and scholars. And their families. And thus, every man, woman, or child here knows his name."

"Apparently Saradin was also a skinflint", an irritable call came from ahead. One of Lans' remaining men, all beard and knotted nose, temporarily under Ashe's command until their captain returned. "Not that I'd be surprised from a province of _Malano_."

"No tributes from Kalyao then", Ashe surmised. "Did they say why?"

The knight scowled. "The fools say our violence is not wanted here."

"A pity we can't oblige them", he nodded at Lyon. "No sign yet?"

"Skeletons", the sentry offered. "Lady Ara and Lady Aisha's units went about to banish them. Aisha wants to go closer now, head them off before they attack the towns."

"Belay that. It's the golems that are the true threat here. In truth I am surprised we've not seen more of them around." Lyon chuckled at that, the eldest member of the rebellion pulling back the youngest from a dangerous position. Not even Destin could change that immutable law of age.

"We'll have a talk with the elder then", Ashe said. "There must be some people here who don't view us as an inconvenience."

"Sure, if we can fight a war without disturbing their dig sites or research", Lyon joked. "Just go with it, old man. Maybe if we start wreckin' a few of these things they'll be a bit better behaved, eh?"

"I wouldn't do that were I you, Beast Lord", a new voice came from a dark alley, quickly revealing the mock-dirty features of Toad. "These statues have a secret to them. One that's worth at least 50,000 Goth."

"10,000 Goth", Ashe corrected, looking at Lyon in irony. With tributes so slim, they had to conserve. "Just in the neighbourhood, were you?"

"You people are good for my business", Toad shrugged nonchalantly. "What need had the Empire for my wares until they had a real enemy to face?"

"In other words", the younger knight said, "you're selling rare items to _them_ too. How noble of you."

"No gratitude these days", the merchant complained before folding his hands into the usual quaint pose. "No one recorded Saradin's death, did they now? He simply disappeared, after publicly protesting the conquest of Zenobia and Malano."

"Not unusual", Ashe agreed. "It's become common practice for the Empire to silence its more vocal critics by any means. Ever hear of a man named Boltrano? There are many ambiguous ways to dispose of a body, merchant."

"Some easier than others", Toad agreed. "But this one wouldn't die so easily, no. As an accomplished student of Rashidi, only a handful of people could take him down. And doing so in plain sight would guarantee that Balmorra would rebel. He had to disappear, without a trace. Enter Albeleo Kaisse, Rashidi's third and most adept pupil."

"He did seem to disappear", Ashe admitted slowly. "The people here have held out hope for decades that he had not abandoned them."

"Nor did he", Toad smiled smugly. "He is still here even now, watching over his people."

"In spirit, maybe", Lyon scoffed. Then he did a double take. "The statue? You think that...?"

"This comes from one of Albeleo's own courtiers", Toad said, pleased to get their interest. "A mediocre wizard who served under him back then, who has since become dissatisfied with the way Balmorra is being run. Albeleo cast a spell to turn their hero to stone, blending him in with the sculptures these people had already erected in his name."

"Damned clever of him. What's the catch?"

Behind him the younger knight coughed, and it was then that Ashe realized that they'd caught the rapt attention of several of the older townsfolk. One wide-eyed one stepped forward and bowed. "Does he speak the truth, knight?"

"That's always the question with the Toad", Ashe cautioned them with one hand. "Hearsay is not truth. Even if that was the case, how would we break that curse? Warren Moon is the only wizard we have with sufficient power to do such a thing, and he's still shuffling his cards back at Zenobia." The last of it was not delivered with venom, though surely many of the younger fighters believed Warren to have abandoned them.

"There is a way", the wide-eyed man beckoned to his friends, quickly bringing forth a plain-looking bell. "This belonged to lord Saradin before his disappearance, the first piece of metal to ever be made at the province's first forge." Giving it a ring that did not sound any different from the usual, he passed it to Ashe. "He enchanted it, and told us that if ever we required his help, we would need only ring this and he would appear." He shook his head sadly, revealing scars on his neck that looked like whip marks. "Nothing has happened even though we rang and rang for him to save us. But if something was blocking him from hearing it..."

If the look on Lyon's face was to be believed, this superstition was less reliable than Toad's gossip. But Ashe pocketed the bell anyway, regarding all of them with thanks. "I didn't think your people liked us."

"We don't", one of them with an eyepatch corrected, brutally honest as the rest of them. "But if you can find lord Saradin, all is forgiven."

No one had bothered watching Toad, who now looked weirdly puffed-up and pale, which Ashe took to mean he was angry. "Now wait just a minute! This is my racket, old man. You stay out of it."

"No charge", Lyon quipped, watching in amusement as Toad produced a bell of his own, cleaner but otherwise identical to the one they'd been given. "Same story, merchant?"

"This is the real one, I swear it", he insisted, ignoring the glares from the peasants. "I had to trade an Opal for it! Don't let these rubes soak you!"

"Under the inside rim there is an inscription", the first Balmorran interjected. "Lettering in the old tongue, which chime is said to release on impact."

They checked. While the bell they'd been handed had the lettering, Toad's bell held nothing. "The scammer gets scammed, I love it", Lyon could not but laugh. "Looks like an ordinary dinner bell to me. Better luck next time."

"I don't get lucky", the Toad said, clearly incensed, though not at anyone present. "I get angry. That Badista is going to pay for this. I'll still expect my 30,000 Goth for that tip, you know."

"10,000 Goth."

"Yes. That."

* * *

BALMOA SWAMP

Destin Faroda awoke to pain. Pain, and the uncomfortable sensation of water flowing across his legs, dousing the armour and soaking the tunic beneath. Pulling himself up against the suck of the bog, he made his way to the closest shore through the gathering mist, taking only a moment to check that he still held all his equipment.

"_Pes'shyk_", he scowled at his last memory. That one, and the other which this particular setting brought to mind- the outer reaches of Diaspola, where Figaro had ambushed him in the guise of Kaus Debonair's ghost. Where he had been humiliated, and betrayed. The marshlands gave no sign of the river which had brought him here, only identical weighted-looking trees in every direction. The water did not smell, but had a strange mauve colour to it which made him immediately spit up any which had gotten into him before.

"The sun", he remembered from Lans' training, looking up trying to catch a sliver of light that would indicate which direction was east. But, after several minutes he peered back down in disgust. Either it was too late in the day for it, or the trees and mist were simply too thick in the swamp. But how to leave? It all looked the same.

_That way_, he decided spontaneously, picking out a random direction to stick to, a slick road that nonetheless wound between the major bodies of water without sliding in. Once out of the marsh, he might at least make out the moon instead, or get some idea where in Balmorra he was. The bog's scent seemed to grow worse as the day wore on, but it wasn't until seeing another person approaching that he ground to a halt.

Tomas ap Neralai walked forward in lockstep, the expression of his human form's face set rigidly. Seeing it, Destin brightened even though the man had disobeyed orders in coming out here himself. "Hey. Nice timing. I kind of figured it would be you. But I wasn't sure if your sense of smell was still enhanced during the day, or if maybe this place's stink was- WHOA!"

With no warning from even his 'extra' senses, the man had lunged forward, attempting to plant one fist on Destin's jaw. A chain of follow-up blows dispelled any notion of a friendly smack out of some disagreement- Neralai truly was trying to kill him!

"What the hell, Tomas", he growled, rolling out of the way of the next hit and nearly falling into a ditch. "Whatever I did, I'm sorry!"

Tomas ignored him, swinging both fists instead of drawing his sword. Destin was grateful for that small favour, but too stunned to think about using his own blade. _This makes no sense. He was one of the most loyal, not to mention talkative. Some kind of controlling spell, perhaps? _If that was the case, carving the man up was not an option. For once, his thoughts had become a distraction as he moved too slowly to dodge a swing and chose to take it on his chest plate.

A brutal crunching sounded, and he flew back to slam into a tree. Scrambling back to his feet, he felt along the metal for the resulting hole. It didn't feel like it had gone all the way to his flesh, but the punch had yet been many times stronger than it should have been. On a hunch, he drew Kalanbolg and aimed for an arm only to have it bounce off as though he was hitting knight's armour.

"A golem", he decided, confirming with a long look into the man's utterly blank eyes and motionless mouth. "A golem sanded-down, and structured to look like a man. Albeleo's work." _Stang. He really _is _a golem genius. Got the colours right and everything. I'll enjoy ending him for this little trick._

The creature did not seem to care or even notice that its cover had been blown. More heavy punches came on, pushing him back towards a pool even as he parried them. Several more cuts directed at various points led him to conclude that the thing was just as solid and hard to damage as the lumbering behemoths it had been based on, though one good strike from Brunhild at the chest chipped away a piece of rock and removed all doubt.

"No choice", Destin told himself, leaping away before holding both swords high in an X. "_Phantom!"_

The bizarre golem did not react to the words, nor show any sign that something was wrong as the golden ghost-heads began to tear at its false 'flesh', ripping it away to reveal bare, uncoloured rock. Unfazed, the thing smashed down onto Brunhild with both fists.

"Tough one", he noted. "Possibly because you have no soul to reap. But nothing is totally immune to this power- the closer you come to achieving humanity, the more to have to take away. _Phantom!"_

The repeat performance did it, breaking the stone man down into a pile of rubble broken up by strangely-coloured pebbles. Heaving a sigh of relief, he took one last look at the rocks before finding the path again.

This time, though, the rebel leader did not even have the time to lose himself in the idle thought of silent travel before coming across another figure. Several of them in fact. At least five, all of them wearing familiar faces with blank white eyes. They had waited for him in a muddy clearing bracketed by ridges, an open space perfect for a surround... And he'd walked right into it like a novice.

"You must die, Destin", Lans Hamilton's words issued from a pink stone face which was _almost_ perfect. "Your mad quest for power ends here."

"You have betrayed our people", Aisha Forris said, monotone but still familiar enough to give him pause. "You have fallen to the Dark."

"We cannot trust you", Warren Moon spoke from the center of their semicircle. "You are a cipher, forming bonds, leeching the life of others, siphoning their will and dominating them. You are a breach that must be closed_. _ We shall free our people without your unnatural powers."

"You are a traitor."

"You are an abomination."

_So they can even _talk_. _He couldn't help but be amazed, even as he felt each accusation strike him, feeling like they burned off a layer of skin each time. He burned, but there was no flame. It was all his imagination. _If he goes any further, he'd be able to make duplicates out of stone and sand, indistinguishable from real humans until you touched them. Freaky does not begin to describe it._

"You have betrayed our people", Aisha repeated. The ankh in her hands would not be used for healing, but could potentially be made of tough rock, a part of the golem. "You have fallen to the Dark."

More of the emotionless lines repeated. Destin drew his blade as the group closed in, saying the same things again, words overlapping even as they prepared to attack.

"We cannot trust you."

"You are an abomination."

"A breach that must be closed."

"You must die, Destin. Your mad quest for power ends here."

"Then end it", he finally snarled back, readying Brunhild. "If you can."

* * *

ROSHIAN TEMPLE

Destin aside, Ashe felt the Balmorran offensive had gone fairly well. Though there had been the occasional dragon attack, most of the Imperial attempts to regain the various towns and cities the rebels had siezed had been disorganized and thinly-spread. Most of the time it had been just one division assigned to take back a single location, resulting in a smattering of single-division duels. His own knights had performed well against both witches and golems, and reports coming in from across the region indicated that Tsuno, Canopus, Ara and Gilbert had all dealt with similarly weak resistance.

They had held out at a temple near Kalyao all afternoon against such, wary of overconfidence like before but feeling the growing sense that whoever was in charge of the Imperial forces here was an amateur. This suited Ashe just fine, as Lyon had continued their quest to try Saradin's bell on every statue of the man they'd seen while surveying the region, much to the captain's exasperation.

"This time", the Beast Lord repeated, brandishing the bell as if about to smack someone with it. "This time, fer sure!"

"That's what you said the last three times", one of Tsuno's on-break subordinates pointed out, lifting his visor. "Give it up already, mercenary. We're not paying you to ring a bell at statues. In case you haven't noticed, Albeleo is handful enough already."

"Less than a handful", Lyon said. "Besides, old guys like that always have cash hidden away somewhere. Credit where credit due, eh?"

Ashe could not help but snicker, seeing the expressions of his people as they got what he really meant. "I knew there had to be an ulterior motive for such enthusiasm. You'll save his life to get his life savings?"

"Damn right", he nodded, looking back at the statue. This one pointed west towards a mountain range in the distance. Though sick of seeing the same statue by now, Ashe admitted he found it curious that each one seemed to be pointing their staff head in a different direction. There were feats of architecture like that all across Malano, the final remnants of the kingdom which had existed long before the Hill Giants claimed it.

Without any further delay, Lyon climbed up onto the round dais and raised the glowing bell. The same echoing two-note chime rang out, subtle but capable of reaching for thousands of feet in clear air.

Nothing happened. The bearded statue remained motionless as ever, and some of the people of the town even stopped to point and laugh at Lyon's antics. "It was a good try", Ashe assured him once he'd climbed down. "Perhaps the rumour was incorrect, or perhaps the curse has remained for too long to be broken. A cockatrice gaze is like that, gets harder to undo the longer you wait to remove it." They had in fact encountered one of those dangerous birds near the river, but Mischa had brought the beast down before it could petrify more than two people and Norn Dias had fixed those right up.

"I don't get it!", Lyon grumped on a bench, placing the bell on the nearby bench. "That statue points to the one we started at. I was sure that this was the one!"

So the Beast Lord _had_ been paying attention to that. _Smarter than he acts. _The fact that Destin had him running scared was all the more impressive now. "A good try." He felt odd comforting the blustery man on the shoulder, but nor did he resist. "I caught that as well. Perhaps there's another one to the west of here?"

"No, Quenaya checked there already. There's nothing, damn it."

Then it hit him. An old story, and one he wasn't quite sure if he'd merely imagined, but worth a shot. "You really do seem bent out of shape over this, Galnam. It can't just be the money, can it?"

Ashe knew it was against the mercenary code of honour to admit they did anything for things other than money, but to his surprise Lyon defied it without flinching. For once, the man who had claimed he fought like 10,000 was moody, his face downcast. "I just... I just wanted to prove I could. No one respects me here. They just think I'm a Goth-grubbing heel when they're only half right. I wanted to accomplish something no one else in the rebellion did, ya know?"

"More than you'd think. I, too, find it difficult to retain the respect of my peers with Lancelot missing. Just another knight, and one so old I can only march six hours instead of twelve." He sneezed, remembering well how Kalbi had affected him. This place wasn't that much warmer despite a lack of snow. "It is all Destin, now. They slack off in their drills. They believe they are invincible so long as Destin guides them. Or else are too scared to defy his commands."

"I'm scared 'a him", the Beast Lord whispered. "I ain't scared of anyone, but the Gods know I'm scared 'a him. Doin' things for him no one else could get me ta do."

They were close. He could sense the man's honesty. All he had to do was push the bell back into his hands, and... "He's the only one who could convince you to stay quiet. Are you really going to back down to a man Selec Fubuki isn't scared of?"

"That Easterling pansy", he growled. He stood, the bell dangling in his hand. "Screw _that, _hoss! I'm not hiding this anymore! _ I_ killed Chamise! _ I killed her on Destin's command, 'cause he turned into a Black Dragon!_"

The others stared, and immediately Ashe saw regret taking Lyon over at the outburst. Not because of the effect it would no doubt have on them as the truth spread at the speed of rumour, but because of the way they were looking at him, no doubt questioning his sanity. He looked as though he was about to say more, but it was then, at Lyon's side, that the bell began to ring.

He looked down, pale. "I didn't do that. I didn't do that!"

Behind them, a light tremor shook the square, the bell continuing to ring independent of its holder, peals of sound echoing off each other until the statue of Saradin began to crack. It began at the waist, spreading up and down until the entire thing was shot through with fissures not unlike the walls of Zenobia. With one final ring the bell broke into pieces, shattering at the same time as the statue. The statue that held earth-toned flesh beneath, the statue that was not truly a statue at all...

"Stang", was all Saradin's liberator could think to say, for everyone around them except Ashe had drawn back from him. "I really did...!"

"The bell of light", Ashe observed smartly. "The bell which tolls only for those without lies in their heart. 'Toll it once, toll it twice, and reach out to the Truth.' Old Malanian verse, and I guess it started here. Didn't it feel good to get that off your chest?"

Reluctantly, Lyon nodded.

"-with a Gods-damned goat!", Saradin Carm suddenly outburst, snapping into life before realizing where he was. "Oh."

"Lord Saradin", one of the other wizards began, stepping forward and bowing. "We had only thought you a legend!"

The blue-robed man looked around, blinking, seeing awe on the majority of those around him. Like his statues, his beard remained oddly vertical and even at both sides so it was never wider than two swords, though he looked younger than Warren Moon. After a long pause where no one dared move or speak, he looked Lyon in the eye and gave a belly-laugh. "And they _still_ haven't finished that damned cathedral to Freya! Good riddance! But I must say, I'm grateful to whoever freed me from that curse. Twenty years of pidgeons was more than enough, let me tell you."

His words hadn't changed the fact that no one knew what to say to him, until Lyon cleared his throat. "That would be me, Mister...?"

"Mister", Saradin was jovial. "Mister! I like it! Anything's better than 'my lord'! So you're the one who opened their heart and used my bell? Don't worry, your secrets are safe with me."

The reassurance did little to dull Lyon's shocked eyes. "Wait, you heard? You know about Chamise?"

"Chamise?" The wizard frowned. "Who's Chamise? I was talking about your secrets, young man. For example, your mother-"

"None of that, hoss", Lyon cut him off quickly. "I just hope you're grateful enough to pay up, old man. This ain't Roshian charity, ya know. Whatever you've got on ya'll do for now."

Saradin glowered, drawing closer. "Imperious oaf! That someone like you would be the one to awaken me! And just what makes you think I have any money? Albeleo looted the treasury after doing this to me."

Mirroring the wizard, Lyon only drew closer until they were nose to nose. "Then we'd better get over there an' take my fee out of that jerk's hide! And_ you're_ going to help us, 'my lord'!"

"I told you not to call me that!"

"An' I told you to pay up!"

"Scoundrel!"

"Moocher!"

"Dung heap!"

"Idler!"

That did it. Saradin's fist shot out with surprising strength to take Lyon in the face, leaving him knocked out on the floor... but still smiling. "Now then", Saradin turned to face the others sweetly as if nothing had happened. "Shall we get down to business?"

* * *

BALMOA SWAMP

From the moment they began to fight, Destin knew he would be in danger from a group of golems modelled to look like his allies. Even against five ordinary golems he would still have bet on the golems. Even two of them would be enough to keep him busy unless he used Phantom, for even the holy Brunhild could not penetrate.

So it was with great resignation that the battle quickly turned into a contest of endurance. Phantom still worked against them, if not well. The damage would spread out in a wave across the five figures, distorting and warping their colours but not inflicting any real harm for the first three attempts. The entire battle would be determined by whether he could summon forth the mighty attack enough times to destroy the stone creations before one of them caught him and broke his bones, for already his armour was so dinged and pitted with rock-fisted punishment that he had cast off the useless chest plate and greaves.

"You are a traitor", one of the golems repeated as it attacked through a red haze, no longer recognizable save for the shape, but already Destin's clouded mind had tagged each one by the guise they had previously worn. "You must die."

"Keep that up and I might let you", he shot back. He didn't really know why he kept talking back to the things, for they gave no signs of hearing him. They did not even cry out in pain as real humans would as bits of their 'flesh' were ripped away and more red lines wrote their way over his vision. He could not see. _Phantom. Phantom. Phantom. Phantom. Phantom until you can stand no longer, focus all of your hate, kill, kill..._

"_You are an abomination."_

"_You have betrayed our trust."_

"_You are a false hope."_

"_A breach that must be closed."_

"_The people demand your death."_

"_You just made the biggest mistake of your life, kid."_

"Gods, shut UP!", he screamed at the shambling creatures. He had fallen over. He could not see, only continue the machinelike assault until a stone-cold leg kicked him into a tree. There was no more Phantom. He could not even muster the word.

The red haze grew, it made the world spin around him. Though emotional pain might have been his constant companion on this journey, the physical could still defeat him in large enough amounts. And this was large. It cast him back into memories, the memories which had flooded into his mind upon his sight of Gares. The dungeon. The handsome but undeniably cruel figure keeping him in chains. The agony that seared him with every touch, until the red haze became his only refuge from it. The fury toward Gares, a primal thought process that had allowed his younger self to endure through years of torture. Just as now...

_**Hurts**_

_It hurts_

_No one helps_

_No one listens_

_No one stops him_

_Why_

_Live_

_Hate_

_Power_

_**Kill them**_

He stood, blind with pain but again feeling the strange cognisance overtaking him, as it had with Kapella but far stronger. The guidance of the Gods, a Roshian monk might call it. He knew that the fake Aisha's stone arm was about to impact his skull from the left, he knew to dodge and where to press down with one arm to break down that bit of rock in turn. From the right, 'Ashe' attacked, easily blocked by his bare hands and held in place until Destin had wrenched one arm and torn his head from the body.

_Hurts_

Then there was Gilbert, lacking a whip but as heavy and dangerous as the others, charging from behind. Destin ducked beneath him and shattered one leg before whipping him overhead into the ground, crumbling from the impact. He did not even wait for Lans to attack, grabbing the remains of Aisha and tossing her towards him before breaking him in two at the chest.

_No one listens_

There was Warren, all alone up on the ridge. He could tell, even if he could not see.

_No one helps_

Destin laughed.

_Hate_

Doing this one in as quickly as the others would not be enough. Not nearly enough. He propped himself up once the old man had been subdued, breaking each finger slowly and carefully. Then the elbows. Then the shoulders, and the knees and the waist. Warren did not howl with pain, but he could easily imagine it, and so he did.

_Kill them_

He'd been wrong, he realized once he'd ripped Warren's heart out and crushed it in his bare hands. There was one more left. Another cleric, by the sense of it. A golem modelled after the shaman of his own division Sara Ellgwyr.

_Kill them_

"Destin!", she called to him.

_**Kill them**_

"I know", he called back, already able to imagine what such a golem might look like, what features Albeleo would not be able to duplicate. "I know, right? I'm a terrible disappointment. I'm a traitor to the Order. I'm a power-hungry maniac. Repeat the lines until I go mad. Clever. But boring, _golem_."

He charged. This one crumbled easily, and he did not drag it out as he had with Warren, just methodically snapping her back before finishing with the swords through her heart. At long last, there was no sign of any more golems. No accusations or lumbering rocks animated by magic. Trying to wipe away whatever stinging sensation had forced his eyes closed to start with, he finally opened them again.

As expected, the clearing was strewn with rocks of all sizes and shapes, the debris of six golems which he had shattered with his bare hands and spells. Though his knuckles bled, still he marvelled at that feat. The gnawing in his stomach seemed a clear enough indicator that he'd pushed his special talents to their very limits.

Or...?

Or perhaps not. There was something wrong with one of the golems. The Sara Ellgwyr lookalike had not shattered like the rest. She was still lying there on the ground, showing no signs of crumbling like the others had_. I_ s_hould've been more thorough. Maybe break the head? _

Lifting her up to finish the job, he leaped back. Warm. The golem was _warm_.

Forest green robes. Shaman's robes. All the others had worn the bare minimum. Lans had not even worn his armour. There was fluid tainting the dirt dark around the golem.

Yes, the golem. Because it had to be a golem no matter how red the strange fluid looked. Because it was impossible for even these golems to simulate blood. Because it had to be a golem because all the others had been golems. Because it_ had_ to be a golem. Because...

The trance broke.

The red tide washed away.

His knees abandoned him, and he began to weep.

* * *

SHRINE CITY KAISELLY

The trip from Zenobia to Balmorra passed in a blur for Lans Hamilton. He barely remembered boarding the boat transporting reinforcements to Diaspola, could not pick out a single action from the march across Malano at all. There had been thoughts put in his head too big to contain, and now they his awareness captive, only emerging to perform the most basic of actions.

_Destin Faroda is going to die, _he told himself for the thousandth time. _I am going to kill him. I am the only one that he trusts enough to do so. No one else in the rebellion can do it._

The rejection of that course was so strong he nearly collapsed. No. He could not. Not even for Gran. Not even if it meant the future he'd seen would come to pass. At least, not until that outcome became more pronounced.

The only thing he could truly remember was Laura's final gift to him, which had made it possible for him to get this far without letting the visions Warren had shown him dominate until he went mad. A small crank-operated wooden box, it played back only the 'Rhapsody of the Ocean', Laura's favourite song. He had lost himself to the gentle, mesmerizing rhythm for many blissful hours, the others leaving him to it, perhaps sensing that the normally stiff knight had some personal problems.

If they only knew...

A compromise then, he reasoned once he could think again. Whatever madness had seized his friend, whether it had been caused by Gares or Deneb or even the Twenty-Two, he could not act on it if he did not control an army. This much had been true back during the days before Gran Zenobia had unified the kingdom, and held today.

He would take the reins of command from Destin, even temporarily, until he could be certain that the future he'd foreseen would not come to pass. Warren had made it clear that the power of Destiny's Child continued to grow, continuing to influence the world around him in subtle ways- neither defeating him nor leading the rebellion onward to victory afterwards would be easy, but Lans had never shirked his duty before and he dared not do so now.

Upon reaching Kaiselly, his resolution became fear once he learned that Destiny's Child was missing in action. A large-scale battle had indeed been fought here by the look of the city walls and still-burning structures. Aisha and Gilbert's teams had been engaged with the enemy's stronger wizards, reinforced only by Destin's own division bearing the bad news to all who would listen. Lans was about to organize a search party when a cry rang out from the front wall.

Destin had returned. He walked slowly with greatly damaged armour, his head down, but unmistakably alive. Wet hair covered his eyes. He did not look up to face the section of his own division who cheered as he stalked through the gate, but instead retreated to the guest quarters of the local barracks with nary a word. Demand for his attention was high, but his friend had not yet completely lost their ability to sense one another's moods, and he requested that the room be locked with only the two of them inside.

"You're back", Destin noted bleakly, concentrating hard on the plywood wall, one fist at his brow. "Just in time."

"Indeed", the knight said, his blue helmet removed for once in a very long time. "I required clarification of a few things. Suffice it to say I got far more than I had expected, but I hope you'll forgive my temporary absence, sir Destin."

The lad did not even chuckle at that. A bad sign. "You're forgiven. You're always here for me. Your timing really couldn't have been better, brother."

This was it. This was his moment, no matter what Destin had in mind Fighting his own body every step of the way, Lans drew Granbane. "Sir Destin. By the authority of the Order of Roshian and the Twenty-Two Gods, I hereby strip you of your authority over the Second Zenobian Revolutionary army. Hand over the Brunhild sword and agree to acquiesce to me, and I promise you shan't be harmed."

There was no initial reaction but Lans knew he had to have heard and understood the threat. "Please", he asked more intimately after five empty seconds. "Do not make me fight you for it." He was still physically more powerful. He would try and press Destin back to the wall and beat down Brunhild before-

Destin turned, and for the first time Lans realized how ashen gray his face had become. He looked halfway dead already, like a caricature of a pure-blood Highlander. "You are my brother, Lans", he said with just a tiny smile. "You always know exactly what I need. Here... take it."

Then, he slowly withdrew the pearl-handled weapon, setting it down on the table with a thunk. "It's lighter than what you're used to", he said as though such a gesture were meaningless. "You'll have to get used to using less force behind your blows if you plan to stick with your vambrace and shield."

"Sir Destin, are you...?"

"I'm done", he announced suddenly, refusing to look him in the eye. He didn't _seem_ drunk. What, then? "I'm done with the rebellion, done with this shit. I'm done, done, done, DONE with killing. Take my armour too, if you want. I couldn't ask for a more worthy successor."

Lans was speechless. This wasn't what he'd expected. He'd anticipated the terrifying sight of his friend gone even further into the rush of personal and military power, more and more brutal towards dissenters like so many men of power in the Empire and Zenobia both. He hadn't expected this tear-stricken wreck standing before him now. He didn't look like he could take on the fairies Yulia had recruited from Avalon. "Sir... Destin? What...? What_ happened_ to you?"

Destin let out a weak chortle somewhere between laughing and crying. "I woke up, Lans. I woke up to the truth at last. That's who I am. I'm a weapon of the Gods. Weapons can't lead. They can only destroy. I killed you, Aisha, Warren and the rest. I ripped you all apart with my own hands, and I REVELLED in it."

Naturally, this left him even more confused. He didn't feel dead. "Then", his friend went on, "I killed Sara Ellgwyr. And she stayed dead."

It hit him. Not the other gibberish, but the last words. The southland Shaman _was_ missing in action, was said to have been leading her own search party to find their leader after an ambush. "You killed her?"

"I killed her", he repeated, staring up at the ceiling hopelessly. "Gods help me, I killed her. Beyond Roshian assistance. And if I continue this, I'm going to kill all of you. I'm getting out of here while I'm still sane enough not to want that. Please. Stop the Empire, brother. Beat their 12 Legions back to Allamoot. I've gotten you this far. You can handle the rest. I believe in you."

He stood, but Lans grabbed his cuff. "You are our hope", he reminded him. "You cannot simply leave!"

"Watch me. I'm done here."

Was this another dream vision? Had he fallen asleep on the boat? He could scarcely believe it was happening this way, and so quickly too. Grasping the sacred blade, he ran to the door to block Destin one last time. "I didn't want this, brother. Stay on a while longer, I beg of you! As a division leader, or an adviser. Something!"

His hand forcing the Brunhild down, he gave back the same terribly sad smile. "Thank you, Lans. For everything. I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier, more than I can say. But I have to avert this fate. No matter the cost. No mortal can ever be trusted with the power I have felt growing within me all this time. Not me, not Rashidi, not anyone. I have to stop it."

Lans fell back. There was still so much here he would never understand. He was a man of laws and physical substance, not intangible destiny or magic. Half of what Warren tried to explain to him about the Tarot and the Arcana still made no sense to him.

But what he did know was the distinct expression that etched itself into the face of a man with a shattered heart. He'd worn it himself for months when Laura had died, and now he saw it on his friend. The Gods themselves could not sway his course just yet, not until he'd pulled himself back together.

"That music box, brother? For old times' sake?"

He nodded, eyes closed in contentment. "Laura's final gift to me. So you have seen me listening to it on occasion."

"Yes. Whenever you're sad or agitated about something. You usually keep it private, but I could hear it playing in the guest quarters after I spared Deneb. It is a work of art, probably cost a thousand Goth to make the metal parts alone back then."

"I would not sell it for a million", Lans said. Returning to the table, he pried the pouch open again and began to play the Rhapsody of the Ocean again, each note seeming the final measure of their time together. Destin waited patiently for the spring to wind down to a crawl then a full stop, then pulled a window open to depart, disappearing into the night. Limp and livid as he was, Lans had no doubt he would escape the city unseen if that was his true desire.

He was not a man of magic. That much was true. Yet here, he did not require the details to realize who, if anyone, was to blame for this. Was that not, in itself, a kind of magic? _Albeleo. It can only be Albeleo. Every rumour I've ever heard paints him as someone who delights in twisted mind games. Just like his wicked master. I don't need to know exactly how, just _who_ is responsible._

And now Brunhild was in his still-shaking hands as the fog of his own nightmare lifted, lending its great power and authority to him, and him alone.

* * *

SKY ISLAND ORGANA

"It is done", Rashidi Light announced with gusto from his scrying circle. _"Exeunt Destin Faroda_. Close the curtain."

On the other end of the connection, the black metal visage of the last Black Knight tilted in curiosity. Being one of the few beings in the Empire more powerful than himself, he held a respect for the sage that most of the Empire's top brass lacked. He had, after all, helped Gares along the path to the power of the Dark he now held, and now willingly shared his secrets more with the prince than perhaps any other. "You saw it?"

"I felt it", Rashidi stroked his beard, intrigued. "That inhuman pressure which had bolstered the rebels' chances in every battle they fought even as it turned our own fortunes to worse has abated for the moment. _Eofhohs_ said that he was going to try out one of his new experiments on the lad. I guess this means he succeeded."

"Then it's over", Gares gloated from his quarters in Xanadu, rubbing his metal gauntlets together, creating an unpleasant screeching. "The rebels are doomed, their hope dead. They can't possibly win without the kid leading them."

"It would seem that way", Rashidi nodded, more reserved. "Still, I cannot be absolutely certain of what I've sensed just yet. Not where Warren Moon is involved. In truth, I am more concerned about what exactly _you_r mistake will do with his power, now that he is freed from the weighty burdens of leadership."

Sensing the reprimand across a thousand mile distance, the prince shrugged, the motion magnified by his large shoulder pads. "Hey, I had no idea that kid was even still alive until I saw him on Avalon. S'not like he was special or anything."

"No?", Rashidi prodded, at once curious to learn the full truth. The truth Gares had kept from him. "Then precisely what was it that made you choose him for your initiation? There were a thousand other children in the city you might have taken, and you chose the son of Lexar Faroda?"

"He pissed me off", Gares offered, and Rashidi knew at once there was more to this story the prince wasn't telling him. "I wanted to make an example of him."

"And instead you transformed the boy into the greatest threat to our unity the Empire has ever seen. Good job", the sage snapped. "You were careless, my prince. You infused a portion of your own power into his body without even realizing it. Had his power over destiny continued to grow and influence even more people, it might have actually been enough to topple us. You're just lucky that our friend _Eofhohs_ knows his craft so well."

"Yeah, yeah", Gares waved it away. "Albeleo's awesome, Albeleo's great, blah blah blah. It was twenty-five freakin' years ago. Give me a break here. So... what now?"

"You mewl like Usar Ferghus", Rashidi observed before looking around at the vibrant grasslands on which he stood. From here, one might almost make the mistake of thinking that they were on the solid ground of the world's surface.

That is, until they looked around and realized that clouds never stayed so low to the ground normally. Or felt their stomachs give way to violent nausea which had taken an entire division's worth of troops out of the fight. "Now? I plan to continue my quest here on the Sky Islands. Fenril of Ice is here somewhere, and I fully intend to find her."

"Why? It's over, in't it?"

He wished to be able to punish Gares in some way for such an ignorant remark, but even _his_ magic was limited by such distances. He consoled himself with imagining it. "_Think_, my prince. If it is not too much to ask. We did not combine the armies of the five kingdoms just to deal with some mongrel rebels. It was all to deal with the armies of Lodis, who I'm sure are wondering right now what happened to the host of thousands sitting on their doorstep a month ago. With luck, we can finish the rebellion off quickly and get back in place to head off any invasion Lodis might attempt upon seeing how our guard is down. The Sky Knights will help to replace the strength that we've lost."

This news cheered Gares up immensely. "I can't wait", he acknowledged. "I heard Lodis even has a few Black Knights on its side. Finally, a chance to pit ourselves against a real enemy!"

"I wouldn't consider an enemy who can do that to you to be false, or weak", the sage observed cattily. "Isle Avalon reclaimed, your helmet lost, the merfolk and mercenaries in your service slain..."

"I'm over it", the Black Knight laughed nastily. "I told you already, I didn't expect the kid to be there. When he realized who I was, he went berserk. With him gone, they're nothing. They're less than nothing. Hell, even if the kid comes back I'll be ready for him this time. Just tell me where to go."

"Nowhere for now", Rashidi commanded, already sensing the prince's disappointment. "You already have a job to do, my prince. The Supreme Overlord is currently in charge of the main theatre of battle near the capital of Malano. Stepping on his toes, or those of his two remaining Deva, would not be wise, given present circumstances."

"Bah! Like I'm afraid of that old fart! I could butcher him in my sleep!"

Rashidi allowed himself a private grin at such bluster. Endora's son might have been very strong with the power of the Dark enhancing his well-toned muscles and reflexes, but no matter how many self-righteous paladins he crushed he was far from the strongest fighter in the Empire. That particular honor likely belonged to either himself, or Overlord Hikash, and neither man held any interest in determining the so-called 'pecking order' further than that. "Keep telling yourself that, prince. You're no spring chicken yourself."

"Says the two-hundred year old man."

"Two hundred and twelve", Rashidi corrected him with a finger jab. Who else but Rashidi would dare speak so frankly to the future Emperor of Zeteginea? "And judging how my enhanced body is aging physically, I'd estimate I've got another hundred more in me yet. So don't go expecting a will any time soon, prince- I intend to live forever."

Such a great claim was enough to awe even Gares momentarily, peering out from behind his helmet visor. "_Freyashalas_. How do you figure that?"

"None of your concern", he shot back a little too fast, betraying the niggling fear that his plans might leak to unwanted parties. No one alive could hear even the slightest whisper of the true source of his powers... "Remain where you are for now, and I shall contact you if Destin Faroda surfaces again. I understand your eagerness."

"Got that right", the Black Knight growled, the mention of his old chew toy enough to get his mind off unwanted questions. "When that damned kid shows his face again, I want my shot at him. It's high time we settled things... both of us."

"We shall see", Rashidi placated him. "For now my prince, sit tight. Keep on minding our 'special guest'. Soon enough, Lodis shall come, and the Empire shall have its new Emperor." Severing the connection with a few intricate gestures he'd learned more than a century ago, he turned to the division command who had been watching his call, a stout dragon tamer in rust-brown armor.

"Well! I hope that proved educational for you, captain. What's the problem?"

"We've found her, lord Rashidi", the captain said neutrally. "Fenril of Ice has been seen evacuating the surviving civilians to her castle at the heart of Organa. She's already slain twelve of our people."

"Damn", the sage sighed, a bit too theatrical to seem genuinely sorry. What was twelve common Zetegineans in the grand scheme of things? The sacrifice of a hundred would be acceptable to secure the allegiance of such a warrior as this. "Idiots. I _told_ them not to engage that woman without me." Spreading both hands wide, he beckoned a captured slave forth in order to help him don the orange dragon-scale armor which was his trademark in combat, though it was too bulky and heavy to wear normally. "Just like the rest of the Sky Knights, it would seem she is too deadly for anyone but me to take on."

"Understood, sir", the captain bowed. "I should think now the troops will treat the other ones with more respect."

"I should hope so", Rashidi chuckled, almost jolly in his bearing. Then again, he wouldn't be at all surprised to learn that the divisions of the Empire's 7th legion would be similarly overconfident towards Fogel the Cursed whenever they found the third Sky Island, and thrown away even more of their tiny little lives trying to bring him down hoping brag about it to their children.

Mortals were always so foolish, after all.

* * *

A/N: I plan to apply the 'location tags' to all entries in the future and maybe edit previous chapters with them later. Just because I'm tired of having to mention the location in passing with every new paragraph.

Some of my favorite authors occasionally play a game with stories they write, listing the number of 'Tropes' their work matches with the ultra-addictive site called 'TV Tropes'. Think I'll do that here and try to cheer myself up, if only to put this chapter into a more understandable context:

Colonel Badass (Hopefully Hikash), Upper Class Twit, Bounty Hunter, Unholy Matrimony, Golem, Do You Want to Haggle, Taken for Granite, Engineered Confession, Uncanny Valley, Berserker Mode, Superpowered Evil Side, Take Up My Sword, My God What Have I Done, Heroic BSOD.

Probably more I can't think of. Try and see how many more you can find.


	18. The Overlord's Daughter

Disc: I should mention that none of the viewpoints espoused by the characters in this story are necessarily my own.

* * *

**The Overlord's Daughter**

* * *

**Tarot XVI - Tower**

_As the Fool leaves the throne of the Goat God, he comes upon a Tower, fantastic, magnificent, and familiar. In fact, The Fool, himself, helped build this Tower back when the most important thing to him was making his mark on the world and proving himself better than other men. Inside the Tower, at the top, arrogant men still live, convinced of their rightness. Seeing the Tower again, the Fool feels as if lightning has just flashed across his mind; he thought he'd left that old self behind when he started on this spiritual journey. But he realizes now that he hasn't. He's been seeing himself, like the Tower, like the men inside, as alone and singular and superior, when in fact, he is no such thing. So captured is he by the shock of this insight, that he opens his mouth and releases a SHOUT! And to his astonishment and terror, as if the shout has taken form, a bolt of actual lightning slashes down from the heavens, striking the Tower and sending its residents leaping out into the waters below. _

_In a moment, it is over. The Tower is rubble, only rocks remaining. Stunned and shaken to the core, the Fool experiences grief, profound fear and disbelief. But also, a strange clarity of vision, as if his inner eye has finally opened. He tore down his resistance to change and sacrifice, then broke free of his fear and preconceptions of Death; he dissolved his belief that opposites cannot be merged, and shattered the chains of ambition and desire. But here and now, he has done what was hardest: destroyed the lies he held about himself. What's left is the bare, absolute truth. On this he can rebuild his soul._

* * *

CASTLE BALMOA

Not a mile away from the battle between his men and the rebels, Albeleo Kaisse sat on a bench in his lab and practiced his Destin Faroda impression.

"I, Destin, General of the second Zenobian Revolutionary Army, do hereby pledge to restore the Zenobian crown to its former glory."

It wasn't as easy as it sounded. Though they were both blood Zenobians, Destiny's Child was well-known enough that some of the more uplifting speeches he'd made in the early days of the rebellion had even reached here and inspired some of Balmorra's lowlives to try and unseat him. Two uppity such archeologists were still lying on a table nearby, half their organs removed. But because of that, a single contraction might upset the whole illusion. The rebel leader had not grown up with his people, and as such, his manner of speaking tended to differ from them in several important ways.

"I bring liberation. I am the one destined to destroy the Empire and restore honor. To follow me is to follow the Gods. Hmmm. A bit more naive-sounding, yes. He is only twenty-nine, after all."

Albeleo loved the smell of his lab. With all the magical items he imported from Zenobia, Deneuve, and even the black market of Malano, the brick cellar developing its own pungent odor had been inevitable. Most of the servants avoided going down there whenever possible, but he thrived on it, might have even had a bed put in the corner had he slept anymore. True, the various tables and kilns strewn with rocks and ash and in some cases half-completed golems combined with an evil-looking furnace gate didn't do much for it aesthetically, but he remained confident that anyone should feel differently about the mess upon seeing the results.

In this spacious cellar below his castle, they built masterpieces. Works of beauty that pushed the boundaries between golem and human farther than ever in recorded history. Even Deneb Rhodes' silly plant-creatures could not compare to their glory, at least in Albeleo's opinion. And it was_ his_ opinion which counted for more, since he was the master of the Balmorran Ruins as well as Rashidi's most talented pupil. Rock was stronger than chlorophyll, and Rhodes was really nothing but a pretty pauper living at the Empire's sufferance, for her work had yet to produce anything useable by the military. Not that he cared one way or the other about that, but it was true that his research had led to more than one such boon completely by accident.

Whatever it produced, whether golems or dragon-controlling collars, he loved being down here. It left him calm enough that when cries rang out from above about a rebel attack by air, he was the only one at the castle who did not panic. Some appearances had to be maintained after all, and he wouldn't give the rebels the satisfaction of thinking they'd achieved anything significant.

It was a shame though, he noted, approaching the most intact figure's table. More noise rang out above, the death knells of the paltry guards trying to protect him from the rebels. If they'd given him just six more hours, he might have been able to complete his latest masterpiece. Another human-sculpted golem lay on the table, already given the flesh-colouring required for even the simplest of disguises. Its features mimicked that of another rebel- the most important one of all. The inconsiderate louts wouldn't even give him time to finish it. A true shame. Seeing it brought to life and talking would surely have put expressions on their faces he would have found priceless.

Before he could lament it any further, the cellar door was burst open by a lightning bolt. Beyond it, Lans Hamilton charged in along with eight other warriors. Several of them indeed looked repulsed by the sights awaiting them, but Lans had eyes only for the Doll Mage who owned it all. "ALBELEO! Your days of creating twisted abominations are OVER!"

He paid the blue knight little mind, preferring to feel his hands over the chiseled features of the golem that would never be. All the same, he was glad to see that one of his chosen models had come to accost him. "Ah yes. You are the Zenobian guard captain. Not much in the looks department, but pectorals to die for. I believe it was your measurements which were the hardest to obtain from Rashidi's spies."

"You are one sick, sick man", one of the other knights spat, eyes lingering on one of the other half-completed golems lying on a table, barely recognizable as being modeled after a female. "_All _of these were to be modelled after humans?"

He'd long since learned to act well, and as he brushed long golden hair out of his closed eyes, Albeleo knew his impression of a shameless narcississt was working perfectly. If only Destin had been one of those. "Of course. Why bother when they are equally strong as normal golems? With just a few more modifications, they shall be indistinguishable from the real thing, and absolutely, perfectly obedient! The most perfect infiltrators one could imagine!"

"And a few other uses as well", an older-looking one with a dusty beard snarled back, kicking one sandy table over along with all the golem parts upon it. "Heartless blasphemies, all of them."

"How dare you!", the mage glowered back. "I'm an artist! Brainless sword-slingers like yourselves never appreciate my talents!" Regaining control, he brushed his hair back and smiled. "All you're ever good for is providing me with beautiful bodies."

"Still so obsessed with vanity, I see", another old man's voice came from the throng, stepping out to reveal the hooded figure of Saradin Carm. "Hello, _Eofhohs_. It's been a while."

"It has, _Veueglr_", he nodded back, only thrown by the sight of Rashidi's former pupil for a moment. "The decades have ravaged your looks, making you ugly- Oh wait!" He slapped his forehead. "My mistake- you were always like that! I'd forgotten! You should thank me, Saradin Truthsayer- I preserved what little beauty you had left forever in stone, until someone was inconsiderate enough to break that curse."

"Frozen in stone, able to feel and hear and think but not move? Try it sometime, _Eofhohs_", Saradin bared fangs back at him, bringing out his staff to conjure a massive icicle. "I dare you, in fact."

"Enough banter", Lans growled again, more eager than usual to kill. "Summon your guardians and let us fight. T'is not fooling anyone in keeping them dormant 'til we begin."

Albeleo sighed helplessly, one hand pressed to his forehead in amusement "You rebels certainly are a stubborn lot, aren't you? Thanks to your haste, all that I have ready to respond are these prototypes..."

Both his hands came up, firing off two quick incantations to animate the only two masterpieces he still had ready to go- a pair of azure blue-toned golems in the old, hulking style more familiar to them. Their eyes glared ruby red as they sat up from their tables, and then the mage began chanting his own magic, creating an acid cloud overhead, the largest one Lans had ever seen, melting the icicle away. "Still, against such clueless boors they should suffice. I can't wait to have the real thing to study, captain. I'll have to be careful not to damage your body _too _much now..."

True to his word, most of the yellow acid sloughed off towards Saradin and Tsuno, occupying the wizards with dodging while the iron golems barreled into the knights. Only Lans fought against this arrangement, dodging around the lumbering guards to strike at Albeleo. "You destroyed my brother's mind", he accused once they'd gotten to arms length.. "For that sin alone, you must die."

"Sorry to disappoint." A more focused acid stream flew from his hands as he chanted, shocked to see how the sword Brunhild cut through it harmlessly. "I am glad to hear my products served their intended purpose though- thank you, Lancelot."

Overcome with rage, Lans ignored the rest of the stream, bellowing as he hacked upwards towards the Doll Mage's neck... and was _deflected_. The moment of shock was all the mage needed to blast him halfway across the cellar on a poisonous green lightning bolt. A fireball from Saradin blasted forth, but he sidestepped it calmly. "Out of practice", he taunted his old colleague. "I would have thought having an eternity alone to think would have improved your skills, but they're still second-rate on a good day."

"Better than Kapella. And more than enough to beat you, fool", Rashidi's other pupil retorted, this time unleashing the same huge acid cloud as Albeleo. The two clouds merged on contact, and for several seconds they both seemed to struggle with it, a mirror of each other. Lans became the tiebreaker, recovering with a wide slash to the back. Though ineffectual, it provided the distraction needed for Saradin to cover one of the iron golems with the fused acid cloud, melting it down into a pile of shapeless metal in moments.

Seeing this, the rest of the rebels redoubled their efforts against the remaining golem. Saradin and Lans however, were all for Albeleo. Another fireball interrupted his chanting, and Brunhild deflected off his skin a third time. Catching the recoil, he swung around the other side, bringing it up into the man's smirking face with all his might...

The face did not bleed. It was not gouged, at least not in a way that human flesh should have been. Instead the man's left cheek flaked away like rock, and a counter-punch blew Lans away before he could look closer. "Animated sand and stone", he observed in amazement, watching the crack spreading along the mage's handsome jawline like a second pair of lips. "You are a GOLEM!"

"Of course", Saradin said in disdain, continuing to unleash spells to keep the other mage occupied. "You think he could stay that handsome naturally? This fool hasn't had a human body for over a century. When he first started his research, he modeled a golem to look exactly like him in his teen years and transferred his soul over, never changing, never aging."

"Something which not even our master Rashidi could manage!", their enemy added in elation. "Eternal youth as well as eternal life! I'll make one for anyone who's interested. My treat."

"In exchange for sparing you, of course", Lans spat. The man's body would likely be as strong and durable as that of a golem- a single punch would be able to break his armor, or the bones beneath it. Brunhild seemed to radiate in his hand however, as though sensing his desire for a personal victory today.

"You have discarded your humanity for superficial beauty. Some young women might not care about that- I have heard plenty of horror stories from Balmorra's people in just my short time here- but anyone who has known true love can see that your decision is a most foolish one."

Albeleo smirked, causing hairline cracks to spread further from the corners of his mouth. Every mouth movement would fragment his face a bit further. " 'Immortality is wrong, true beauty comes from the heart', right? Spare me the tired platitudes, Lancelot. When you look this beautiful, no woman gives a damn what you do to them. _ That's_ the reality."

"Just like Deneb", he shook his head in disgust, cutting down to pierce the tan robes over his chest and leave chips of rock flying when he withdrew it. "Worse, in fact. At least _she_ is mature enough to understand the truth."

The mage laughed. He raised both hands again. "Look at all of you, still subscribing to that old-world morality! It's _dead_, people. Dead and buried. Just like all of you."

In a single move, the tide of battle shifted. There had to be a thousand small rocks and pebbles littering the lab, and no man could react fast enough when every one of them suddenly sprang to life and began to pelt the rebels from all sides, battering armor and leaving the wizards bleeding. Seeing that Lans wasn't about to give up, he focused the majority of the flying rocks on him, a storm so thick one could barely see. A thousand dings and pits in his armor, Lans hurled up a goblet of blood, but continued to charge, worsening the cracks with every slash.

"Enough", Albeleo commanded after several such hits. He could actually feel his stone body coming apart- even it could not withstand such damage without cost. Another hit from Brunhild would not be pleasant. The rock storm focused entirely on Lans now, halting his advance and driving him back... yet still not knocking him down. "Enough! Stay down, damn you!"

"Never", the simple reply came as the man shed his ruined armour and began blocking hits with shield and sword. "I will never fall until sir Destin is avenged!"

Then, to the Doll Mage's shock, the fresh scars he'd given the blue knight knit themselves back together. Blood steamed away, and he recognized the telltale glow of holy magic.

"He shan't fall", a new voice echoed as he descended the stairs. "For he is Zenobia's true champion. And you, heretic... are just an obstacle in his way. Finish it!"

Father Zalas, Lans recognized, was no slouch as a healer despite being cooped up on Avalon for so long. His strength was nearly completely restored, more that enough to drive Brunhild home into the artificial man's ribcage before pulling it out through the top. Desperate, Albeleo raised another hand for a spell... only to have his entire arm fall off in a rush of dust.

"So that's it", he observed of the stump as though nothing was wrong. "You had these idiots backing you, healing you the whole time. A shame, but I guess you've earned a victory for now."

"You don't seem terribly worried about it, _Eofhohs_", Saradin noted as Lans lopped the other arm off as well.

A cracked grin gave him all the answer he needed. "Me? Never. Besides, my art doesn't end here. Just you watch, _Veueglr_. I shall be back. And my next body... shall be even more beautiful! Ha ha ha!" And his entire face sagged, cracks resulting from his grinning too wide to be possible the start of a complete shatter, leaving only a pile of dust and rock remaining on the floor.

"The fool is right", Saradin sighed once Zalas' priests had helped everyone recover. "He'll be back. If he can make one golem body for his soul to inhabit, he can make more. Enough to keep him alive until Judgement Day."

Lans tried not to sound disappointed. He couldn't even take revenge on the man who had organized Destin's downfall. He remained curt: "If he seeks to challenge us again, we shall deal with him then. I doubt he shall be willing to try again soon after we defeated him so soundly."

"Well spoken, knight", Zalas commented, joining them in the heart of the ruined lab. Some of the rebels looked reluctant, but a gesture from Lans made it clear he was no longer an enemy. The head priest wrinkled his nose. "Is that what I think it is...?"

"It is", Saradin admonished, touching the last remaining sculpted golem in the lab as if expecting to find soft flesh. "Albeleo's final work- a golem duplicate of _Destin_. Nearly complete too. A good thing it is that we stopped him when we did."

"A good thing it is that the betrayer was killed", Zalas corrected him, looking at the model in revulsion. "Lancelot Hamilton is now the Champion of Zenobia, the true leader of the rebellion. Full healing of your people shall resume at once, and we have a chest with 200,000 Goth waiting for you to put it to use upstairs."

"You have my thanks, father Zalas", Lans replied, deliberately turning from the Destin-golem's blank white eyes. "With our people and the Order of Roshian reunified, we shall defeat the Empire in Malano, liberating it from its grasp."

Zalas bowed, departing. "I look forward to hearing of your victory at the capital, Champion. Now, I must speak with miss Aisha, and try to convince her to see reason."

Saradin whistled once he was gone. "Indeed", Lans said. "Twisted as he might be, Albeleo is still-"

"Not that, you idiot", Saradin snapped. "It's _you_. You and Zalas overturned the whole command structure overnight. And only a handful of folks were mad enough to leave. Fast and efficient. Very Rashidi of you."

"Nothing you say could nauseate me more."

"Good."

Surveying the remains of his armor as a temporary distraction, Lans kicked the chest plate, giving up on ever getting it rebuilt. The suit he'd worn for twenty-four years was finally trashed beyond recovery, though perhaps Gilbert would be willing to have it melted down and recycled. Meanwhile, he now had to deal with a man who it was rumored had the power to see through _any_ lie.

"I had no choice, Saradin. You've only been with us a short time. You don't know how fast this army would descend into bickering without a strong central leadership- inevitable in such a mixed force. It was sir Destin's charisma which held them together, sir Destin's strength which prevented infighting."

"Destin's tactics which got you this far", Saradin finished for him. "I could hear the whole time, you know. Tales of a young rebel leader who performed miracles reached even my ears, the Roshian missionaries singing his praises until just under a month ago. What will happen when you disobey Father Zalas as well, I wonder?"

_Not helping. _His eyes drifted back to the Destin-golem, as if trying to find some trace of the power which had allowed them victory after victory. "T'is no helping it. For better or worse, he is gone. I have taken on the role of usurper, and thus shouldered the blame for it. That is my sacrifice for Zenobia. It is Destin's sacrifice, and I'll not let such a sacrifice be in vain. This I swear."

* * *

KASTRO VALLEY EAST

Lans dared not fight unarmored in the Valley of Kastro. Though easy for dissenters to label as the coward's approach, Lans restrained himself from participating in the skirmishes that broke out as the rebel army marched into the road that led to Malano's capital, promising he would return to the field as soon as he could locate a replacement suit.

Fubuki's departure did not come as much of a surprise. The mercenary had always distrusted Lans and the church, and the feeling was mutual. The samurai's unit was no doubt still out there somewhere, either trying to find Destin against what the Order had told everyone or seeking employment elsewhere. Nybbas as well, whom no one, not even Tsuno or Warren, had truly liked, and not only for the way he'd proclaimed Destin as their true savior, and decried Lans as all manner of sacrilegious things before departing.

What had come as more of a start had been Mildain and Guildus, the paladins who had followed after Aisha despite a thorough peace appeal by Zalas. _The dark side of Destin's power,_ Lans couldn't help but think. _People become overtly dependent on the sensation of fulfillment he creates when he is around them. Almost like a drug. _Against his personal wishes, he'd neglected to send anyone after her, Fubuki, or Destin himself. They needed all available hands ready to do their best when the bulk of the Imperial Legions guarding Malano made their presence known.

That time would not be far off, he felt. It was why he had ordered that they march to Kastro instead of directly to the capital city. The valley was one of the longest such geographic entities in the known world, a mile-wide canal framed by sheer cliffs, with an extremely dusty bottom very close to something he'd heard about called a 'desert', which apparently made up ninety percent of Fubuki's home country of Deneuve. With all of the major nomadic settlements lying along the cliff walls in small clusters for more than twenty miles, the vale was ideal for an ambush, possibly the only way by which they might break the enemy's power. He had even ordered a two-division feint towards Fort Allamoot, as a means of diverting the Supreme Overlord from the real game at hand.

"We could've chosen a better time", Ashe noted in the same helpful tone he tried using with Destin. "With the wedding going on and all, they've stationed the 5th and 6th to protect it from us. Not sure where Apros' own royal guard is, but drawing those two down the valley will require more than just dangled bait, I think."

"But if we wait", Lans seconded, knowing they shared views, "then they can simply mass their forces and drive us from the continent no matter where we hide. The harvest season is nearly over. We could never manage a defense at Balmorra, much less Diaspola or Kalbi. The best way is still to attack, to damage them while they are divided between two fronts."

"UNGHRRRR!"

The muffled roar turned both their heads over towards one of the vale's tributaries, a tiny canyon which had been a river centuries ago. Within, they saw the source- four dark green-skinned worg, eight hungry heads in total, positioned around a woman in rags. While one was injured and they seemed wary of her, even a simple predator's mindset could understand numerical advantage. Once Lans and Ashe had run in closer however, they quickly reconsidered, and the pack ran with only one sword stroke from Ashe.

"Cereberi", the old knight muttered darkly, watching them run before turning to help the woman. The filthy rags could not entirely conceal a muscular yet elegant figure, perhaps even Malanian nobility. Beneath the poofy cap, her hair was just past the familiar military length. "Runt of the litter, I'd say."

Lans didn't laugh at the joke. "Are you alright, miss?"

She stood. "Affirmness, forgiveness core moo."

"Moo?"

She laughed. "Forgiveness. Mine Zenobian has a tiny dirty."

"You mean it _is_ a little rusty", Lans corrected. It was to be expected the further west they travelled. The Empire's influence could be felt strongly in the schools of the other kingdoms. More folk would speak Zeteginean as their native language, and fewer would speak the language of the Kingdom with any degree of fluency. They'd already had to turn down a few merchants whom they could not understand without one of their own speakers available, though Lans would have bet that Toad spoke both.

Curious, Ashe peered closer to examine the blade which had given the pack their first injury. "A Valkyrie's pike? Which division did you steal this from, girl?"

"Nothing". She looked offended. "It's myself. And it is saved myself seven- several- clocks in the past few clays- days, so forgive me if I fold it in higher watch than moo. What are moo things, anyway?"

"The second Zenobian Revolutionary army", Ashe replied flatly, enjoying the look on Lans' face. "Mayhap you've heard of us?"

She froze, and for a second Lans thought they'd made a mistake. But then she pulled the poofy cap off, letting more golden hair spill out before drawing the pike and rattling a string of reverent Zeteginean neither of them could understand. "Someone up there thankfulness myself. I have been cooking- no, forgiveness, _looking_ for moo."

"For us? Why?" If Hikash had anticipated them...

She faced Lans, apologetic. "Much forgiveness if I make mistakings, I will try to maintain in brief. Fresh Air Tristan needs your support, and the same as myself. Myself is being raced a day after the fair."

"T'would be better, I think", Lans decided, seeing his friend about to crack up, "if we took you back to the others. Norn should be able to translate for you."

She smiled. "Norn Dias? Most certainly? Myself had moan all herself problem in Diaspora. Herself merged with moo?"

"Come and see", he offered his shield arm. "I wouldn't say 'merged', but she's been a great help to us thus far on her own quest to find Kaus Debonair."

"_Qurgraiveles_", she nodded. She did not take the arm- Lans figured it was due to Zeteginean culture, but did not have time to ask before her face paled. "_Giva lir_!"

There was no time to react, but thankfully the projectile was not a lethal one. It simply splattered all over Ashe, getting droplets of the same sticky juice on Lans and the ragged woman as well. Spinning around to find the source, he was the first to spot the black-winged figure perched on one of the highest cliffs. Giving Lans nothing but an imposing glare of glittering eyes, it swooped from there across the rest of the desert, too quick to hit even if they had a ranged weapon.

"Badness", the woman shook her head at the black-winged assailant. Ashe was not injured, merely spitting out some of the sticky, pungent liquid that now covered him. "Much, much badness."

* * *

REBEL CAMPSITE, KASTRO VALLEY

After fifteen minutes alone with her old friend, Norn Dias stepped from the tent to face Lans and the other division leaders around their campfire. "It's a lot on our plate", she confessed sheepishly. "Some good, mostly bad. Do you desire the bad first, or the good?"

"The good". Lans had dealt with enough grief lately just trying to get the rebellion to function without Destin. The bad, he'd deal with once he knew where they stood.

"Well", Norn began, "she's the Overlord's Daughter, for one thing. Princess Rauncorintha ap Vinzalf. Rauny to her friends."

"I thought it was good news first", Gilbert called. For once, he lacked his cob pipe. "Hikash is as loyal as he is powerful. I doubt his daughter would be much of a departure from that mold. He wouldn't allow it. She has to be a spy."

Norn shook her head. "We knew each other growing up. She's a hardcore soldier, but she said she's come to realize that the Empire's current behavior is disgracing the paladins. I can vouch for her."

"Not enough", Harrison Ordas spoke up. The commander of Destin's old division- now his division- spoke up much less at meetings these days, clearly stunned by the twin blows of losing Sara Ellgwyr and Destin. Nybbas, he cared not. "Did she name a deciding factor? You don't just decide to go traitor... Most of us, anyway."

Understanding that last barb was not intended for her, Norn looked back at the tent. "Love. She fell in love with Prince Tristan about a year ago. Only now, her responsibilities are forcing her to marry Baron Apros of Malano instead."

"Fichs Tristoram Zenobia", Lans repeated, a great weight lifted from his heart. The prince was near. So near. Soon, they would find him, and everything would be better. "He's in Malano?"

"Apparently", Norn concluded. "He's been rabble-rousing in that area for several years under the alias of Lord Fireseal, though nothing much came of it that Rauny could tell. Only those closest to him are allowed to learn his true identity as Gran's youngest son."

"Good news, then. What else?"

"Hikash took our bait", Norn offered meekly. "He took the 10th legion and headed off to Allamoot to stop the 'rebel assault' there."

"Excellent", Lyon called smugly, rubbing dusty hands together. "Now they only outnumber us two to one. Bring 'em on."

"Enough", Lans raised one arm. "This is not a party, but a strategy meeting. The bad news, then?"

"Apros sent someone after her. A professional assassin by the name of-"

"Ares", Canopus interrupted, standing up at once and towering over most. "The black-winged man you glimpsed in the canyon, named for the pagan God of War. A disgrace, even to his own clan, but one of the most formidable killers in the country."

"Yet he fled", Gilbert pointed out. "All he did was hit Ashe with that disgusting glop. Even he can't take on an entire army."

But Canopus frowned, sniffed the air near Ashe's tent. "He doesn't have to. He covered that human with meat juice. Diluted prey's blood and sap. Every wild animal for 20 baums is going to smell that reek, even if he removes his armor."

"Cerberi", Lans guessed, comprehending. The rebel's dragons and giants were restless. They'd been attacked by packs of desert predators twice already, taking injuries both times. "Wyverns. Cockatrices."

"And more", the bird man affirmed. "It's an old hunter's trick. Trying to wear us down so he can capture the princess and bring her back to Apros. Now that we have her, he might even be willing to share his bounty with some of the nomads here to help even the odds. Retired ninjas and the like. We have to take him down, or she will never be safe. Never."

"I leave that to you then", Lans nodded, noticing how the Wind Rider was suddenly so talkative. Either it was Destin's absence rattling him or he truly did despise this 'Ares' person. "Watch for him, and bring Norn with you for healing."

"And me?", Ashe piped up stuffily, poking his head out of the tent they'd given him to contain the horrible smell. "We're not just letting this happen, are we? I'll take my armor off, go into hiding if I must. You don't need this old man."

"What we need", the bird man said, deep in thought, "is a place that the animals naturally avoid. A major ley point, perhaps. Some places like that are such bad news to them that they won't chase prey into there no matter how good it smells. Does anyone here know of such a place?"

"I do", Lyon shot up. "There's a clearing one baum east of here, secluded from the rest of the valley. S'got these weirdo markings on the ground. Dunno what they mean, but the beasties 'round here avoid it like the plague. You'll be safe there, until the smell wears off."

"Then half of us shall go there", Lans ordered. He could already tell that Ashe was disappointed at being left out of the battle. "The rest shall stay with Canopus and the lady Vinzalf. We shall end Ares' threat, clearing the path to Malano."

To his surprise, no one argued. They silently paired off into two teams, the team tasked with defeating Ares the more formidable one even before factoring in Canopus and Rauny. "Take care now", he advised her as they prepared to divide up the supplies. "You remain our only link to Prince Tristan."

Deciding she could not convey such a complex expression, the princess barked out more rapid-fire Zeteginean to her fellow Valkyrie Ara Kestler, who looked only amused. "She says 'How chivalrous of you. Don't worry. I might not be my father, but the Imperial army is my family. I can take care of myself.' "

Satisfied, he retired to the tent normally reserved for Destin. There, father Zalas waited with two servants at his side. Lans tried his best to look pleased at their arrival. "The Gods have a present for you, Champion", the new high monk said, beckoning the servants to unfurl the tarp covering his gift. "A gift suitable for Zenobia's new hope. And if you don't mind my saying so, it has come with perfect timing after your recent encounter with Albeleo."

Lans stared, looking over the pile of pearl-white metal while praying his heart would not simply explode from the way it was beating. It was the same. Exactly the same as the suit he'd worn in his vision. The vision where he'd become a paladin. The vision where he had killed Destin. Though far more extravagant than his previous one, the way the white suit glowed in the dark also indicated the presence of powerful enchantments meant to blunt blades, heal scars and repel magic. Only the broad metal wings stretching off the back would he consider to be dead weight, and he could always remove those at a foundry when Zalas wasn't looking.

"It's Zenobia's finest work", he articulated. "Everyone shall see you now, and know that their true Champion fights alongside them."

Seeing no other choice, Lans nodded. "I must say the timing_ is _quite fortuitous. Put it on. We've no time to waste."

He let the servants handle it, allowed each piece to slide onto his body as they would a marionette. He lacked the energy to don the heavy monstrosity himself and if he had this was still faster. "Shall you be accompanying us, then?"

"I'd like nothing more", Zalas bowed. "But I must first reestablish contact with the Roshian temples of this region- many of the more isolated areas such as this one were cut off from us during the siege of Avalon, and I wish to let them know that we are still alive. They should offer you healing even before then, of course."

"To deliver something to them, I sense", he said as the chest plate clicked into place. There was another bag of goods not belonging to him or Destin, which looked to contain many scrolls of parchment. "To hand-deliver news?"

"Important news", the priest said evasively. "As I said, they've been out of touch for almost a year."

"And you wish to ensure they know whom to support", Lans finished. "And whom to vilify."

He drew the bag shut, refusing to look back until the helmet was on, the visor shut. "Reading people's hearts is Destin's gift, not yours, Lancelot. You would do well to remember that, for whom can ever trust such a man?"

_At least one person_, he kept the treasonous thought to himself. _And they say Rashidi can read people's hearts as well._ "I understand. That is how it shall be phrased, passed down to future generations. That he was not of this world, that he was something unnatural birthed by Gares. A demon."

Either not hearing the sarcasm or not caring, Zalas nodded. "I am glad to see you understand. May the Gods guide you, Lans."

The armor was also semi-reflective, Lans noticed just then. By looking down, he could make out his own mottled face. A face adorned with the fanciest armor he'd ever seen Zenobia create.

Vainglorious. Proud. Elegant.

"Lancelot", he called after the priest, taking the confusion on the man's face as the smallest of victories. "My name is Lancelot."

* * *

KASTRO VALLEY, MIDDLE DISTANCE

Seeing the last enemy flier fall shrieking into the valley bottom, Canopus Walf wheeled around and checked his division for the fifth time that day. Halcygos and Moraine had take some big hits from the patrol, but none had fallen yet, and the Empire's lack of strong healers was once again working against them when it came to Halla and Inglesias' floating forms, barely visible in the daytime.

"All goneeee...", the ghost noted sadly. "No moreeee?"

"For now", he agreed. There had to be some explanation for why the undead had not deserted along with the man who had convinced them to join, but he wasn't particularly interested. With how spasmodic the creatures' minds were, it could be they just hadn't stopped to think about it yet. If what they did could be considered 'thought' at all. The undead would always disturb him on some level, but they had proven valuble allies this day.

Looking down, he could see Lans' own assemblage of land-bound troops had fared much the same way. A few close calls, but nothing serious, even when a pair of Ninja masters- clad in black instead of the apprentices' forest green- had sprung an ambush. However skilled they might have been, however ferocious the animals tricked into attacking them, or how ardous the valley's terrain for those on the ground, none of that could compare to the threat of an actual Imperial legion. For that, he supposed he should have been grateful. All it did was make him even more cautious.

_It's too easy_, he mused, spotting the next nomad city ahead and calling it out to Lans' group as he circled back. _Ares is the most infamous mercenary in_ Malano_, a land with more professional assassins than chefs. Surely he realized that it would take more than this to beat us, after all we've gone through. Mayhap he's playing coy, waiting for us to rest and lessen the protection on Rauny. _For the moment, Lans was taking no chances- the princess was being guarded by the entirety of Harrison Ordas' division, and flanked by Lyon and Ara's groups. Though chafing under such restrictions, she had still managed to tag a few flying enemies with thunderbolts, proving her claim that she was nothing like the Malanian bourgeois she'd escaped from.

"Mayhap I am too forward", he said to her once they'd gotten to the next shelter city. "But I find it hard to believe that even 'love' could break you from your 'family', human."

"I locate it tough to trust myself some time", she said, nearly blushing with her usual mangling of the Zenobian standard. "The thing did never happen at knight. It was never due to only Fresh Air Tristan."

"It was gradual", he managed to subsume from that. "When did it begin?"

She opened her lips again, but merely chuckled. "_Shgochias. _Forgiveness. The thing is much complex. Mine explaining in the homeland speaking would be much more soft. Ara?"

"It was gradual", Ara Kestler came over to translate, another person whom Canopus would not have been shocked to see depart with Destin. "She knew from an early age that she had been sheltered from much of the Empire's worst crimes by her father and her position in the army. But it was Tristan who showed her evidence of the atrocities visited on Zenobia and her vassals. It did not mesh with the paladins' code of honor, which all Zeteginean _Einherjar_ are sworn to follow."

The bird man tried not to make his snicker sound _too_ demeaning. "The paladins' code and the teachings of Freya seem like contradictory legislatures. Mercy is a weakness? The lines on the 'cycle of souls' which decree that all people must either give life or take it? And that is their only destiny?"

"She says all opposites are reconcilable, for they are born from the same universe", Ara continued after several moments of Rauny speaking rapidly in her own tongue. "And that most holy scriptures, including the Roshian doctrine, are similarly confusing when applied to the real world. But she knew evil when she saw it, nor could she ignore the gradual transformation of prince Gares into the monster you know today." Breaking off there, she winked at Canopus. "She wouldn't say, but before I quit the army, they were a big-time item. Everyone thought the marriage of the Emperor's son and the Overlord's daughter would be a perfect political match, but somehow it never happened."

"Just as well it didn't", Moraine remarked with a laugh. "Can you imagine it? Them in bed?"

"I can", Ara said. "And for that I curse my imagination."

"Enough lady speaking", the princess cut in, not quite grasping all of it but enough to realize when she was being mocked. "Gares his weevil the personing he wise."

"That's what they think of us", her friend scoffed, her expression . "That just because the Valkyries are an all-female Order, and that we worship a Goddess, we spend more time talking about our men than fighting. Or even better, that we begin to prefer each other's- ahem- _company_. Because of course, that happens all the time with all the Orders Zenobia has that are men only. Knight, Doll Mage, Beast Tamer..."

"Quite the mouthful", Moraine shot back when he saw that his leader was speechless. "Been waiting to get all that sarcasm off your chest a while, have you?"

"A few months", she allowed, grinning back at him despite the hostility of the words. "I'm not saying it was right to kill Gran, but you cannot deny he was biased."

"Conceded", Canopus said. He was the only one there who had known Gran Zenobia, and what the Valkyrie said was true. "We forgave him for not giving our loved ones the opportunity to get killed in battle."

"Nor sovereignty over wealth nor noble title. Nor any of a hundred civilian jobs dominated exclusively by Zenobian men-"

"Enough quibbling", the bird man broke in. "What is this, what the humans call a gender war? It happened twenty-five years ago, before most of you people even knew what a king was. For now, we fight to restore justice for _both_ of our peoples."

"Good speakingage, birdy man", Rauny commented with an honest smile. "You fine- fight- also good."

"Yeah", old Moraine raised a cup to him. "You too, princess. Couple more like us and the Empire doesn't have a chance in hell."

Another night passed without much incident. It was not until the morning that the reason for the supposed weakness of Ares' efforts became evident, a scout riding Mischa drifting to a halt just outside of the formation. "There's a blockage up ahead, captain", the young man said in a panic. "Ten feet of rocks and debris. Looks like it was put together in a hurry, too."

Feeling the division leaders' eyes upon him, Lans looked down at the dust below and cursed. "Those trenches... T'was not just the dry season, then. Someone has dammed the river. Devilishly clever."

"Why?" Beside him, sir Reldin looked confused. "Why do that?"

"When it's released", Norn explained hurriedly, "the resulting accumulation will be directed by the cliff walls, sweeping every town in this valley away, along with everyone in it! Either the God of War thinks he can fish the princess out of the flood, or he's out of options and doesn't care anymore."

"The former", Lans noted, scowling. He'd been had. Everything else he'd seen here had been to stop them from moving quickly and figuring out the real game. "Such a thing would have taken days to set up even with a great many slaves... I, on the other hand, have no choice now. All flying divisions are to head straight for the dam up ahead and prevent any attempt by Ares or the Imperials to break it. Everyone else _must_ march at full speed, with no further stops, until we are out of this vale." The message was quickly relayed among the division leaders, and soon it was with much more hurried feet that the rebel army rounded a corner to spot an enemy battle line.

"The 6th Legion", Ara observed unhappily from a high rock perch. "Or a part of it anyway. Seven, maybe eight divisions, looks like. They're surprised to see us."

"That shan't dull their blades any", Lans said, peering closer. The rebel air divisions were all engaged with the flying component of the 6th, but the ground forces had not yet moved to destroy the dam nor extricated themselves from the flood's path. There was yet time. True to form, the blockage had been hastily constructed from a wide range of materials, primarily bits of stone and wood. At its foot, the signs of a drained basin were more readily apparent; brambles and dead sea creatures where the water had once been.

"They weren't arrayed facing us." He closed his eyes. What was it to be then, run or fight? For once the numbers were just about even, but fighting top-rank troops in the shadow of the valley would hardly be ideal- both sides had advanced to a point where a single stray spell could break the dam and doom them all.

"Incoming!", Reldin called out, looking even more anxious than the rest. "They're charging, infantry first."

"Signal Canopus back here", he commanded. By the time the bird man received those orders and got the others to abandon the aerial duel, they would be long gone. "Retreat to the northmost perch at Felghanna- that should be high enough to survive the tide."

They obeyed, but Lans soon cursed to himself. The rebels were unused to retreating, particularly through the billowy dust that now caked the valley's bottom. He could only remember one. The rout at El Rangen, which had been more the result of Debonair's mercy than a skillful withdrawal.

The divisions of the 6th Legion on the other hand, seemed well-accustomed to marching fast towards their prey, gradually closing the distance until the first projectiles began to fly over their heads. Finally, after running for nearly 10 baums, he dug his greaves into the sand and pivoted. "About face! We'll have to deal with them here."

They did. The stretch of cliff they'd chosen was purposefully narrow, so that their line could be shorter and thicker, the walls serving as their flanks. Seeing how they had unconsciously arranged themselves bulging outward slightly at the center, Lans quickly ordered Harrison and Ara's groups to join his own as the defensive core, the center section which would face the strongest blows.

"Boss", Reldin called again, voice drained of emotion. "Take a look."

He looked, and for a moment wondered if the Gods were once again playing a trick on him. The man walking towards them at the tip of the Empire's own spearpoint shared both hair length and basic body structure with Kaus Debonair. However, the coloration of his skin and hair- Deneuve cinnamon brown and snow white respectively- dispelled any illusions that it was the same person. "General Tanaburs Luvalon", Norn Dias identified the man. "The 4th Deva of the Empire. You're_ certain _you don't wish to continue running, my lord?"

"We can't", Ordas answered for him. "They march way faster than we do. This, not the towns, is the best place to fight them if they're really coming for us. Damn... I really thought they'd fallen for Allamoot."

"I'm certain they did", Ara sighed in resignation at the approaching line of weapons. Luvalon was dividing up his divisions to engage separately, but his own group would strike the center. "But they have enough to guard Malano both ways. Half this many in the hands of this man would still be dangerous to us. Ares cannot have planned for this."

"We all knew we would have to face him at some point", Lans offered, trying to calm the hearts of his people along with his own. "The same for Rauncorintha's father, Cale Previa, Endora and even Sage Rashidi. But now we have hope. We've all become great fighters over these past months of warfare, each of us many times more experienced in our fields than we were when we began. We have proud knights and paladins, blessed healers from Roshian. We have giants and dragons at our command, and spellcasters capable of destroying this entire valley if they so chose!"

He turned, eyeing the line to make sure the others were listening too, watching his new armor glow in the sun. "These so-called Imperial elites ignored us as our strength slowly grew, dismissed us as too weak to bother squashing when they could have, considered Lodis to be the more pressing threat. NOW is the time to prove them DEAD wrong, my friends! Let the Empire know that they are no longer the strongest army in this world!"

It was far from his best work, Lans admitted to himself. But it was enough to cheer many uncertain faces back into grim battle masks. That, at least, was one thing he held more experience than Destin with- rallying groups of hopeless men and women into a fighting force no matter how many times they were stomped on. Hearing Destin's trademark battle cry all along the line, he stepped forward without pause to meet the general.

As expected, he did not bother with negotiations before drawing his blade, the exact same style of weapon that Figaro and Debonair had used. Whereas General Figaro had practically radiated pride in his abilities and a most fanatical desire for violence, Luvalon's dark-skinned face was more akin to one of the valley's sheer cliffs. Laconic and cold, it betrayed no emotion even as Lans remembered something Gilbert had once said.

"You are out of position, general", he observed calmly, drawing Brunhild in sync with the rest of the rebels. "Mayhap you've come for revenge?"

A hint of confusion hit the general's face, and he spoke in a voice as bled of feeling as his face. "Revenge? I do not understand. T'was only by accident that we encountered each other at all here. I sensed the confusion in your army, the same as mine."

"Your daughter", Lans said, driving the point home. "Captain Rhea Luvalon fell at Diaspola. She fought us well, but not enough. Is there no hatred in you towards us for that?"

_Nothing_. This time, no facial reaction at all. "She died performing her duty to her people. There is no greater achievement I could ask of her."

"She died trying to cover up a scandal", Ordas snarled back, a witness. "Killing one of her own allies to keep it from getting out!"

Luvalon ignored him. "My daughter knew her purpose. Duty and respect for the law always must come first. It is that creed which proper civilization is built upon, and there can be no greater righteousness than to be defending civilization. Without it, we are as the desert animals here."

"Duty then", Lans nodded back, maneuvering to engage even as the general's own division leaders rushed up to help. "We are not so different."

"I disagree", Luvalon said. "You are the knight captain of Zenobia, and I am the 4th Deva of the Empire."

"The strongest Deva", Ordas acknowledged with an unwilling shiver beneath his armor. "But we've beaten both Debonair and Figaro. We can beat you too, Tanaburs."

The general's head tilted. "Perhaps. It makes absolutely no difference to me how strong you all have become in your travels. Either way, you are a threat to our homeland, and the Empress Endora has commanded your deaths." He raised his sword. "No quarter."

Brunhild followed suit. "Long life to Gran."

With that, both leaders gave their subordinates leave to attack the fighters opposite them, squaring off while the fighting around them grew to such a clamor that Lans was surprised to find the knights Reldin and Ordas fighting alongside him, spreading out to cover the general on three sides.

Then Luvalon swung. The pressure wailing against Lans' new shield felt incredible, more like a stream of continuous strikes than one... But he could see the others were affected far worse. Reldin's shield exploded into metal fragments and Ordas was thrown back into a crowd.

The second swing fell to him, a vertical cut that the helm deflected but not without leaving his head ringing. Finally closing to within striking range at this point, Lans cut ten times and found every single one parried. Those the sword could not block were somehow blunted when the Deva spun, diluting the moment of the thrust and avoiding even a single mark on his own less enclosed armor. Reldin had been hacking away from behind with similar effect. Which was to say, none. The next swing lauched him away, but Lans held on by digging Brunhild into the dirt, following up by bringing his own shield down on the man's kneecap.

The Deva's ears perked up and he leaped back, but it was not due to caution as Lans had hoped. "The flood", he remarked. "T'was not your plan?"

"We had believed it was yours", Lans replied. "Baron Apros should be more cautious about whom he hires."

"Bounty hunters", Luvalon grunted. "The very lowest form of all life. Now it falls to me to save us all from death-_ Freya ghit du chicht Niebelung! _BLITZ!"

His sword held high, the winds shifted, becoming a tempest capable of repelling any attempt to interrupt the Deva. Not that Lans would have attempted such thing, for now he too could hear the growing din of rushing water over the noise of combat. It could not possibly be more than a handful of minutes before it would reach them.

The sight unfolding before them now was equally awe-inspiring, for the tempest had only been the start of what Norn had once explained to him was a 'spirit technique'. Kastro's sky held a scant number of puffy clouds, but now a collection that looked like every single one of them in existence was converging in the sky above Luvalon's sword, quickly transforming the sunny day into the endless gray doom of an unnatural storm.

The storm clouds parted, but yielded no rain. Instead, Luvalon pointed his sword towards the way his army had come, Lans being the only one focused enough to catch the hot-white bolt eating into the dirt behind them. When it faded and the dust settled, he nearly tripped- the bolt had left behind a two-foot fissure of black spanning the length of the valley behind them. Beyond that, the tide rounded the bend into visibility.

"It shall not hold forever", Luvalon said, watching the wall of water approach the fissure. Amazing how fast it could move under the right circumstances, Lans observed. "But long enough for us to finish this."

"Then we shall." Against his misgivings, he had been closing on the general for the duration of the technique, and now struck from behind with every bit of force he could put into Brunhild. He felt a surge of elation as the hit passed inside the long sword's range, followed by one of disappointment as it hit, making the man stumble, nearly fall over, but _not_ splitting his skull open as it would have any man of Zenobia.

"Unexpected", his foe remarked in utter calm. The hurricane-force winds pushed back against him, making every slash dodged a bone-wearing chore. "But 'Blitz' is not merely the magical lightning conjured by wizards or Valkyries. It is the real thing, mother Earth's wrath given form. I have used it to blast a fissure in the world one hundred feet deep." He did not have to add the obvious, that a single touch from such an attack would shred a person's armor along with the person inside of it.

"My thanks to you", Lans replied. "Regardless, I must win. No matter what it costs us." On cue, Ordas returned to the fight, directing two-blade combinations at the general's guard while Lans picked away at his side. Behind them, the flood had reached the fissure, spilling into it endlessly but lacking the speed to bypass it altogether.

Twenty-five parries and deadly swings later, he cried out in triumph, finally slicing deep into the man's other leg. Repelled immediately, yet it was a relief to see Luvalon bleed. As if sensing his elation, the storm winds rose, drowning out much of the fighting around them and the dark clouds this time loosing actual rain on them.

Lans felt their first loss before it happened. One of Norn's giants, too lost in the fight to realize who he was attacking, charging through the storm winds towards their source. Luvalon could not possibly miss such a big target, and the Titan's mass did nothing to help it against the white bolt which suddenly tore through its chest and out the back.

The creature fell without making a sound, and gradually the entire battle seemed to turn to hell. On the left Lans saw sir Zagan falling back against repeated strikes from an enemy Dragon Tamer. On the right, he saw Ara's group being buried beneath the weight of twenty paladins and valkyrie. Back in the center, he saw Ordas charging again with a defiant scream... only for the bolt to force him into a roll, at which point Luvalon's sword simply cleaved him in two as though the armor were butter.

_It's him_. He realized, more floored than ever on a day that had offered nothing but shocks. _He's gathering energy upon himself, a whirling nexus of power upon which his people draw and become stronger, whether they are aware of it or not. Just like sir Destin...!_

It _had_ to stop. Luvalon had to die, before the storms he'd gathered consumed them all. Pushing Reldin aside, he charged, silently asking Brunhild for all the strength it could spare. Again he'd caught the Deva flat-footed, distracted with blowing a skeleton apart, and again he was disappointed- and perhaps a little frightened- by how little damage the strike did. Too late to shout a warning, Reldin came back in with the remains of Destin's unit, trying to act as reinforcements for everyone.

Three strikes was all it took to catch him. Ducking away from a high strike only put him in the path of the bolt. "STOP THIS!", Lans demanded. "Your fight is with me!"

Luvalon did not respond to this, but the fissure did. Its entire volume filled, the water now burst forth from it in a valley-spanning current, heel deep and growing. Many on both sides took the hint and began to retreat. Many were no longer able to, and still more no longer had any concerns with breathing. Ignoring it, the Deva directed another swing at him, cracking a leg plate with the impact.

"Your friend was incorrect", Luvalon found room to remark once they'd exchanged hits long enough for the water to their ankles. "I am not the strongest Deva. At least, that was not the skill for which I was given my current rank."

Bone-weary and feeling his strength ebb with every hit, Lans mustered a grunt. "Hn?"

"It is my speed", he explained without boast. The blade did not appear to move, but Lans was sent sprawling anyway. "Even as a child in Deneuve, I was gifted with far superior reflexes to any other human, even the ninjas and samurai Orders. None could explain how I came by such a thing, except that it could be the work of divine powers."

He didn't care. There was too much red in his eyes to care, too much water and wind pressing down on him. Too many chains, which he swore he could almost see.

"So I was taken", Luvalon went on. "Taken away to be trained in the army. It was not long before Overlord Hikash took notice of my talent, and had me begin the trials to become Deva."

The bolt came out again, a near miss that left his teeth on edge. "Of all the crimes-!"

"That was how I came upon this strength. The trials are a closely guarded mystery of Freya. What one faces there kills most of the applicants in novel and horrible ways. But I _lived_, knight. I lived. I held on through the storm, and thus was I imbued with the tiniest fragment, the smallest possible morsel, of our Goddess' power. Anything more would have destroyed me."

"Yours-", he sputtered, struggling to beat past the man's sword hovering at the edges of his vision. The sky above seemed an ocean of black. "You cannot-"

"You claim that like Brunhild, your suit is more than mere mortal-made steel?" Again, the Deva's cold features slid into an expression of polite surprise. "Then let us test that claim."

A white bolt surged out of the tip of his sword and drowned out the world.

* * *

SECLUDED VALE, KASTRO VALLEY

"Tch. Storm's a-brewing", Valerin Ashe shook his head at the growing turbulence in the sky over the rebels' temporary refuge. "I don't like it."

"Makes two of us", Saradin said, looking around placidly at the rest of the rebels' second group for confirmation that no one felt the gray skies above to be a natural phenomenon. The 'refuge' was exactly what Lyon had spoke of, an open clearing amidst a tight mountain range that held no signs of even insect life, just an open field.

They did not need Saradin or Warren to theorize that it might have had something to do with the dirt-markings on the ground, which their bored members had followed around to find a massive triangle enclosed within a larger circle that bordered the clearing. Aside from that, there was little else to do but wait.

Ashe had spent twenty years waiting and no longer minded, but it was entertaining to see Saradin pacing about over such a small thing. "Same as being trapped by Albeleo's curse", the sorcerer snapped when asked about it. "Doing nothing, saying doing. Accomplishing nothing. I can't stand it. Never could, really."

"Then make yourself useful", Ashe offered, beckoning some of the others over to the center of the triangle. "Share some of the knowledge you keep in that wooly head of yours. If you can."

Saradin looked at him like it was a dare. "Finally! Someone who appreciates my wisdo- I mean, if you insist."

Having removed his armor to dissipate the stench, Ashe slapped one quivering knee down. "Shame we can't have a campfire. At any rate... You were one of Rashidi's three pupils. You would know him better than any other man."

"Stop it, you're making me blush." He nodded, becoming more serious. "You wish to know his story?"

"It is the one part of Gran's demise and Zenobia's ruination I have no answer for in all my years", the captain said. "Rashidi Light had it all. Power, trust, love, wealth and respect. King Gran the First named him his chief adviser, and he rose up to become the most well-known of the Sages' council. Anything he wanted, he could have. Just what part of this life might have enticed him to betray his people wholesale?"

"Madness?", Saradin asked in jest. "I can see you'll not be satisfied by the short answer. I'll tell you what I do know." Taking a deep breath, he sat down in the center of the crowd, many of which were now listening despite the distracting smell of Ashe.

"You must understand. My old master... He was born into an age of chaos", the sorcerer began. "Back before the kingdom of Zenobia even existed. Instead, there were six or so small tribal nations on the continent, and they did not coexist peacefully. At all. In such an age, a man's power was determined not by right of inheritance or morality, but by how many armed men they had. So not much different from today, really."

Ashe didn't appreciate the comparison, but beckoned for the Truthsayer to continue.

"He was born in the land we now call Sharom under the name _Rishid Naechisteni_, a name only given by the most religious of parents. But it was not long before they were parted- his home town came under attack by a roving barbarian tribe. Or perhaps it was one of the rival nations, for there was little difference between them back then. The barbarians slew, they raped, they pillaged... and young Rishid only lived because of the efforts of a passing wizard."

"Fleeing to his home in Valparin, the wizard Bali raised Rishid as his own, and so it was that he came into contact with magic for the first time, becoming well-versed in its various branches and intricacies by the time of his tenth summer."

"It was then that history repeated itself. Another tribes of dirt-bearded savages attacked that city as well... but it was here that Rishid set himself apart from the crowd. He stood in their path, a single unarmed man against twenty or more. And he raised his hands."

"The magic flowed forth as if it had been there all along. The very land itself swallowed up the barbarians. The ones who were not entombed were eviscerated by flying icicles or incinerated by a burst of fire, or carried away screaming to their doom by a roaring tornado. Every one of them died, along with Bali and the entire city, for Rishid had lost all control of the power he had summoned, terrible power which surpassed Bali, surpassed anything a boy his age should have been able to conjure."

"But this was only the beginning. Leaving the ruins of the city behind, he endeavored to force a peace summit between the six nations. He pleaded with the six tribe leaders to unite, explaining to them that they could accomplish much more, provide better for their people, as one. He claimed he would solve all their problems if they did as he said."

"The six leaders, being who they were, did not see it that way. Who was _he_, a mere boy, to go ordering _them_ to make peace? It wasn't long before they called for his execution, penitence for the utter destruction of Bali's home and more importantly, daring to interfere with them. But one man stood up for him, throwing down a challenge in the Court of Swords. A duel for a life, to be fought by a humble, burgeoning knight named Grannash Zenobia."

Saradin waited for everyone to finish digesting that, giving a sardonic grin. "You can probably guess what happened next. It's spoken of often enough by the bards anyway. King Gran the First won. He defeated the champion selected to oppose him in a duel to the death, took Rishid as his slave. Yet he was a slave in name only, for Gran had listened to Rishid's dream for a better future, and wished to help him achieve it, as equal partners. They travelled together, the magician and the knight fighting off enemies from all sides, but gradually running into three other individuals who liked the sound of that dream. Prince Roshian, who despite his bloodline refused to become their leader. The wild beast-man Dalkas, who could communicate perfectly with any animal, even the dragonkin. The paladin Denam, who had known only strife and treachery in his life until meeting his new friends. These men would come to be known as the Five Heroes of Zenobia."

He clapped his hands, looking up as if in prayer. "The rest is history. The five friends fought every step of the way to unite the warring tribes under Grannash's banner, even required to defeat several of the stubborn leaders personally. The land came to be known as Zenobia. As it has since then."

"Very interesting", Ashe found the breath to observe after several seconds. "All of that is incontrovertible, is it?"

Saradin shrugged. "It is Rashidi's version of the story, siphoned out to me bit by bit whenever we had a break in our studies. Albeleo and Kapella didn't give a damn, but I was fascinated by him then. By all that he has seen in his life."

"Yet even here", mage Tsuno mused aloud, "there remains a great deal of mystery. How did he come into these powers? His immortality? And why was he so adamant about forging the tribes into an alliance?"

"Only the Sage of Light knows for certain", Saradin admitted. "Ask him yourself, and he would slay you. If you are lucky."

"We're aware", Ashe remarked sadly. Destin Faroda had not shared with anyone what exactly had happened at ruins of the capital, but once again he'd underestimated the tenacity of rumors. "I feel it in my bones. The Sage shall be our very final challenge to overcome, and I do not doubt at all that he shall be our greatest one."

"Indeed", Saradin looked wanly up the boiling gray sky once more. "That is what scares me, knight. I am Truthsayer, and it is against my nature to sugar-coat this... You can prepare for wild storms such this one. You can prepare yourself for golems that look like men, or Black Knights, or wild dragons, or the end of the very world itself, the Ogre Battle... But you_ can't _prepare for Sage Rashidi. Not really. Without your Destin's power, we'll just have to hope we get lucky. And try not to let him open his mouth."

"Luck, sir Saradin", a broken voice came down from somewhere above them, "is not in the cards on this day."

Everyone looked up to see Canopus carrying Rauny, the rest of the rebel flyers close behind him with other men as cargo. But Ashe's eyes drifted down to the white metal object the bird man had dropped near them, nestled in the dirt like a dying animal.

The sacred sword, Brunhild.

* * *

KASTRO VALLEY, MIDDLE DISTANCE

Though his eyes eventually pried themselves open by reflex, it still required a moment for Lans Hamilton to realize that he was not dead.

Far from it, in fact. Tanaburs Luvalon's _Niebelung_, Blitz, had taken him full force in the chest too fast to block with sword or cracked shield, throwing him off into one of the cliff walls like an angry God. His spine ached, his chest ached, but the other surprise was enough to block that out for the moment; the blessed armor had _held_. Its glow faded, its connectors burst into shards, it had held on.

Then the raging tide had struck them, making it impossible to continue as it pushed everyone, rebel and Imperial, flailing down the valley. Norn's remaining Titan was the only one large enough to resist, but soon he was out of sight. And Lans had other things to consider, such as figuring out how to swim in bulky armor while exhausted.

Canopus Walf however, could fly above the surge. And so he saw the black-feathered shadow, nearly invisible in such a storm as this, when he swooped down and grabbed the Overlord's daughter from the water before her own gear could drown her. He saw Lans making a few gestures with one hand, insisting that Rauny be the first priority for recovery. And whatever disappointment the Wind Rider had suffered with Destin's departure, he knew when to focus.

He did not waste time with banter or a challenge, merely picking up speed with the crazed winds to slam into the Raven man from behind. A glossy black club slid out, but he must have realized the disadvantage for he plunked down his thrashing captive on a tall rock surrounded by water before coming around to face Canopus.

"Wind Rider", Ares hissed as they drew close enough to hear. "Damn. 100,000 Goth was too cheap."

Canopus spat into the wind. "No amount of _human _money is worth what I shall inflict upon _you_, traitor."

Ares said nothing more after the first pass, already understanding that even a bird man's developed ears would be limited in such a din. Like as not, they'd been drawn into a classic duel of Winged Ones, where maneuverability was the key factor. It was not under the water this time... but his opponent was many times more proficient than Porkyus.

"How could you do it", he accused following their next pass, one which Ares had come out ahead in. "How could you sell out your own people like that? Even the Raven clan has self-respect!"

"Business", the black-winged assassin replied as their clubs interlocked. "They knew the risks. Or do you speak of my former clan?"

Neither spoke for a long time after that, both occasionally checking to ensure the princess remained trapped by the rushing water. The duel was too close to bother with any other considerations, and already the Wind Rider's feathers were frayed and loose, his vision blurred. The other bird man tackled him down to another, larger, spire of rock before he could dodge, bringing out the club in a more damaging combination.

"What is there for us but this?" He heard the spike-haired mercenary whisper. "Who helps a clan rejected by their people, a people who they themselves are rejected by the world of man?" The club broke the arm he'd raised to block, and Ares bared his teeth in triumph, smashing down again and again. "But here is the _one_ balm for that pain I cannot deny the feel of."

Slam. "When bones _break_!"

Slam. "When blood _spills_!"

Slam. "When they _scream_ for the pain! THAT'S the _power_, the feeling I can't deny!"

"_Pes'hyk _blood addict", he managed to bite out through the pain, rolling to one side just in time. "_Thunder_!"

The bolts all struck home, but he had been incorrect in his initial assumption of the man. Ares' glossy-seeming club wasn't truly made of metal. Like all the weapons those of the bird clans were expected to create on their own before going into battle, the ebony weapon had been ceremonially carved from the wood of the tree in which he had been raised from the nest. That small dedication to tradition had saved him, allowed him to stay light on his feet as he charged, screaming.

The charge became a leap, the black club pointed at the Wind Rider's feet. Recognizing it, he leaped aside nearly into the water, but avoided being struck by the thick column of fire that suddenly burst from the ground he had stood upon, leaving a perfectly round scorch mark behind. The heat alone nearly made him faint even in this weather. "_Inferno_", the other bird man spoke. "My favorite."

"Your last", he snarled back, firing off another Thunder spell in vain. Another pass left him weary while the Raven clanner seemed fresh as ever.

"Hardly." Ares' winged stretched wide, taking the full force of the wind in order to rise to far greater height and speeds, higher than he'd gone for the entire duel. The flashes of natural lightning taking place silhouetted him as he rose, pure black on pure white. "I'll bring you down and collect my reward. _You_ are no longer the master of the skies, Wind Rider! That honor belongs to me!"

He bent, coiling for a power dive and a spell to go with it, but it was in that moment of vulnerability that Rauny Vinzalf struck. Her Muse pike, normally useless against flying foes, shooting through the air to take the Raven clanner in the chest, sticking but not penetrating deeply enough to kill. "Good throw princess", the bounty hunter observed, pulling at it with one hand. "Pity you only have one!"

_Then_ the lightning struck, drawn by the metal of the pike. There was a brilliant flash and suddenly Ares was plummeting back to earth, only 'lucky' enough to strike the plateau. Canopus heard bones, notably thinner than a human's skeleton, snap as he hit.

He found the 'God of War' rested against a rock in a crumpled heap, staring blearily up into the dark sky that had destroyed him. To Canopus' surprise, he did not emit noises of protest, only regarding Rauny and he briefly.

"See it. I can see it", Ares mumbled through broken teeth, never taking his eyes off the sky and punctuating every word with wet coughs. "It's up there. Paradise. No clans. No humans. What a wonderful world... such... would..."

The two stayed with him until the end.

* * *

One mile away from where Ares was dying, Lans Hamilton pulled himself ashore, hands bleeding from the effort. The place looked to be sort of alcove in one of the canyon walls, too high for the flood to reach.

Removing his helmet, he choked, spat up water before staring out at the devastation. How many of his allies could have survived this? How many had fallen before the 6th legion? The rebel army had effectively been cut in half. Though he grieved every loss, it was Harrison Ordas who dominated his mind the most. Never would they have a chance to 'clear the air', as Warren Moon would put it. Never would he have a chance to explain why he'd felt it necessary to take over and end the accusing looks the young knight kept giving him.

"Lancelot Hamilton".

The flat call could only belong to one man. He turned, horrified to see Tanaburs Luvalon pulling himself up onto the same rock, as waterlogged as Lans but otherwise unharmed. "I have endured the mightiest storms of the Earth in my trial", the 4th Deva spoke almost apologetically, shaking soaked hair from his eyes even as he drew his blade once more. "I cannot be stopped by such a thing. Surrender."

He braced, feeling for his own weapon. "Never. T'is not over."

Luvalon did not sneer, but Lans could hear the dismissal all the same. "Only in your own mind. Look around you. Everyone is dead. Those of your people the flood does not take shall die when my legion attacks, for I have trained them for situations such as this. Your rebels are beaten. What purpose is there in continuing?"

"Stopping you. Removing one more obstacle to the defeat of the Empire."

Luvalon looked at him pityingly. "That is impossible."

Another bolt fired at him, but this time, this time... Lans knew his reflexes had finally got it down even before he felt the bogglingly fast bolt of white sliding past him, his roll just barely clearing it. He couldn't dodge it every time. He might never be able to dodge it again with how beat up he'd gotten, and how small the rock precipice was.

But it was enough. "Mission... accomplished", he taunted the Deva. "I have... unhnhn... triumphed."

Luvalon did not look angry, only curious. Mayhap he was wondering if his foe had completely mad with fear. Mayhap he was right. The bolt flew, and this time Lans felt it. Not the electricity, but the life of his armor's protective enchantments fading away. The metal screamed and cracked, breaking away until he was down to just his cloth tunic.

"Your 'power' is a sham", he grunted, waiting for the last bolt to fall. Even if he ran, there was no way past the Deva's sword. Fighting the wind was struggle enough now. "You serve a naked hussy who shuttles corpses for a living. All that power, and you cannot even kill a true man!"

Forcing his way forward a few steps, he cast Destin's sword away, into the rapid current. It disappeared from sight almost immediately. It would never be used by Imperial hands. "COME!", he shouted to the storm, for he could no longer see the Deva. "FACE ME! I'm unarmed and I can yet defeat you! Because unlike _you_, I serve my nation with pride! I have served my nation for thirty years! And I'll CONTINUE TO SERVE IT, FOR ANOTHER THIRTY, AFTER YOU ARE **DEAD**!"

He'd confirmed Luvalon's suspicions, it looked like. When he replied, it was glacially slow and delicate.

"Lancelot Hamilton. When did I ever say that I was relying upon the Goddess Freya's power? What you've seen, what you've witnessed... has only been my own mortal strength, earned through trial and torment true, but _not_ the strength of the divine. You have fought very well, all of you. But no amount of fortune or skill can overcome such a numerical advantage."

He punctuated this with another wide slash, impossible to avoid in his state. The cut took him in the side, leaving one leg bleeding and unable to move.

"You must let go of these fantasies of victory, Lancelot Hamilton. But you are not the true cause of the chaos. Tell me where Destin Faroda is, and we shall forgive you your transgressions."

Hearing the offer, Lans laughed madly. "Sir Destin is my best friend, Imperial dog. I'd die a thousand painful deaths before giving him to you... Get on with it then."

From the look on his normally-stoic face, this was not the answer he wanted to hear. Foregoing the sword, he grabbed the rebel leader by the skull, raising him up before hammering him into the rock shelf. "Tell me! Where is Destin Faroda?"

No response. The Deva had returned to his golem impression but did not abate in his demands or the punishment he heaped upon his foe. "_Where _is Destin Faroda?"

Silence. The thunder continued long after Luvalon had summoned it, stirring the water into chaotic waves. But Lans could no longer sense any of that. He could not feel the breeze, nor the spray of the tides, nor even his own arms. Instead, he retreated inwards. _Laura. Remember Laura. Remember Destin._

Crunch. "_Where is Destin Faroda!"_

_I'm sorry Laura. I'm sorry sir Destin. I have failed you..._

Crunch. "WHERE IS DESTIN FARODA!"

_Vision... Warren's vision. Not be fulfilled. All I desire._

Crunch. Luvalon screamed again, angrier. Lans could not hear him. Finally, the 4th Deva seemed to realize that like the rebellion, his inquiry was a lost cause.

_Sir DEST-_

The sword came down.

The world froze.

And Lans Hamilton was gone.

* * *

SECLUDED VALE, KASTRO VALLEY

"A divine sword", Canopus spoke again among the rebels, desperate to find something else to talk about. "Lighter than conventional metals, else it would have sank to the bottom immediately."

"You did well", Ashe assured him, peeking past to spot Rauny and a handful of survivors they had fished from the water. "You all did. We could not have asked for more."

"But what now?", Tsuno asked glumly. "First lord Destin, now this. How do we go on?"

Ashe's hand reached out, taking the hilt that felt uncomfortable in the bird man's shaking hands. "We keep fighting, Tsuno. That's what we do. To quote a late friend of mine, 'a cause is not dead while there is yet one fool left to fight for it'."

"Well I can see why he's 'late'.", Lyon said before seeing dark looks on a number of faces and refraining from commenting further. Few seemed capable of much else other than dwelling their own personal realms of terror and frustration.

But Saradin was not one of those. "I must agree with Valerin", the Truthsayer announced. "The Empire has always held the numerical advantage. Without Destin to safeguard our fates, this is the first time you've all felt _real_ warfare. The larger side wins more often than not. They have thousands. We now have less than a hundred. But does that change anything, really?"

"It might", the bearded knight Zagan grouched. "Now that we know full well the influence Destiny's Child had. Without him we have no chance of accomplishing anything other than our own deaths! The enemy is coming once the flood ends. Hundreds of fresh troops. Scatter now, and some of us might yet live."

Ashe could see a number of the rebellion's weaker members beginning to nod in agreement and felt his heart quaver. This would be the end of everything, if he let them all walk away now. There had to be something...

"Lans Hamilton laid down his life to stall the enemy", he pointed out, raising Brunhild in accusation. "A hundred others died to get us this far, on our side alone. Do you really wish to throw their sacrifice away?"

Zagan looked angry. "What more can we do, old man? You heard the bird. They're coming. Luvalon's people, possibly the man himself. They'll find us here."

"We must NOT lose hope", he countered with such energy that the younger knight actually stepped back. "No matter what happens, we have a better chance of survival together. No matter what happens, the fact of why we're here does not change. No matter what happens, we _cannot give up_!"

Zagan looked like he was about to say more, but then he saw the glow overtaking the tip of Brunhild. "What...?"

Ashe was equally shocked, but the glow provided no explanation. It spread down the blade to the hilt. Beneath it, the lines which decorated the place lit up with the same glow, shrouding the canyon in light. As they watched in stunned silence, the light focused itself into a thick pillar extending into the sky, even piercing the clouds Luvalon's power had summoned. Surrounding it, many could now make out the multitude of intricate patterns that made it up.

"Incredible", Saradin deduced in awe upon reading the patterns. "That legend as well...? Might it take one legend to trigger another?"

Tsuno stared. "You can read it?"

"Indeed. Ancient languages was one of the many skills Rashidi taught me. There's no particular wording, just emotions. Image." Taking a deep breath, he looked at Ashe. "Captain. I can almost guarantee this won't hurt us. And do we have any other real options?"

A quick look around told all he needed to know. "Hurt us", Ashe repeated hesitantly. "What is it?"

"Sixty-nine years and you don't know?", Saradin asked in mock pity. "What _are_ they teaching people in schools these days? It has all the trappings of a Chaos Gate. One of the-"

"The transporters created by the Sky Knights in the event that the world should need them again", one of the shamans blurted before realizing who she'd interrupted and blushing. "Sorry, sir."

"Not a problem", the wizard smiled. "And you are absolutely correct, miss Hilda. It's a transporter. Only fitting that a weapon of the Gods would be required to activate it." He gestured to Ashe expectantly. "Go ahead then. It's this or a bloody death for all of us. If it works, they'll never even know where we went."

Ashe trusted Saradin completely but still hesitated, slowly walking into the beam with Brunhild held high as if to ward off an attack. As he vanished into the beam, the wizard gestured for the rest of them. "Well? Go on. Without Brunhild powering it the gate will only stay active for so long!"

One by one, each surviving rebel found the nerve to step into the Gate. There was a tingling sensation like none of them had ever experienced, and naturally closing one's eyes was required to avoid being blinded. When the tingling abated, each would open their eyes once more.

And would behold the new land which the beam had brought them to. More specifically, the pavillion of wood they'd arrived in, attached by a bridge to the main attraction.

For a long time no one spoke, merely taking in the sights around them. The clouds, far closer than they'd ever known. The calm breeze sifting through them as they shuffled down the bridge. And the_ island_, the floating landmass it connected to, motionless in the sky as if daring someone to claim it an impossibility.

"Is this...?", Tsuno finally found it within him to speak up at the sights around them. "Did we... die?"

Beside him, Canopus seemed to melt, relaxing for the first time in many days. "Paradise. It is paradise. Here, we are safe."

* * *

A/N: Finally got the Sky Islands in here. Don't want to talk about too much else for fear of spoiling what's next. I'll just say that characterizing 3 villains plus Rauny in a single chapter is pretty hard. Sometimes it feels a bit like they're all too talky, but then Tactics Ogre and Final Fantasy Tactics both had their characters saying whole pages of dialogue to each other mid-battle, so in that I'm ahead.


	19. The City in the Clouds

Disc: I think it's worth mentioning here that I don't mean to promote or put down any particular religion with this story. It's just that the game does indeed have both Demons and Angels as playable characters as well as their home realms referred to in-game as 'the heavens' and 'the netherworld'. I work with what I've got, and I don't own it. Believe whatever you want to.

* * *

**The City in the Clouds**

* * *

**Tarot XVII - Star**

_On the bleak landscape where the Tower stood, the Fool sits, empty, despairing. He hoped to find himself on this spiritual journey, but now he feels he's lost everything, even himself. Sitting on the cold stones, he gazes up at the night sky wondering what's left. And that is when he notices, nearby, a beautiful girl with two water urns. As he watches, she kneels by a pool of water illuminated with reflected starlight. She empties the urns, one into the pool, one onto the thirsty ground. _

_"What are you doing?" he asks her. She looks up at him, her eyes twinkling like stars. "I am refilling this pool, so that those who are thirsty may drink, and I am also watering the earth so that, come spring, the seeds will grow," she tells him. And then she adds, "Come. Drink." The Fool comes to kneel with her by the pool and drink. The water tastes wonderful, like liquid starlight. "I can see you are sad," the girl continues, "and I know why. But you must remember that you have not lost all. Knowledge, possibilities, and hope, you still have all of these. Like stars, they can lead you to a new future." Even as she says this, she began to fade away, like dew, vanishing. All that remains is a gleam that was at the center of her forehead. This rises up and up, until it settles in the night sky as a shining star. "Follow your star," the woman's voice seems to sing from that light, "and have hope." The Fool takes in a breath and rises. It is a dark night, a desolate land. But for the first time, he has a guiding light to show him the way. Distant as it is, it heals his heart, and restores his faith._

* * *

SKY ISLAND MUSPELM

Stepping onto the grass outside the connecting bridge, the monk Norn Dias felt a tingle run from the land straight through her toes and up into her arms. That could have been dismissed as a stray bit of magic from the Chaos Gate, the shining emblem in the pavilion which had brought the surviving rebels here, but for the open sky that met her eyes when they first emerged onto the wooden bridge connecting the tower to it.

There were clouds _everywhere_, far thicker than normal but puffy white instead of the grim gray sky that General Luvalon had apparently conjured by sheer will. Then there was the sense of vertigo, which she saw made many of the rebels sit down to catch their breath from the blood rushing to their heads. The dragons did not seem to mind, but Tomas ap Neralai did, the werewolf looking from side to side and sniffing the breezy air as though they'd walked into another trap.

"Incredible", Valerin Ashe spoke up beside her, echoing everyone's sentiment as he stepped off the bridge onto solid-seeming land, testing it with one steel boot. "Incredible. Might it have been up here, all this time, without anyone below knowing?"

"You do hear the story occasionally", she felt a contagious smile creeping onto her face next to him. Even with everything they'd lost, all the death they'd witnessed, the island's strange 'aura' of peace was so strong here that it made the pain easier to bear for the time being. "But the next question people talking about islands floating in the sky get asked is how much ale they've had to drink. I _see_ it, but I'm not quite sure if I believe it yet." Without waiting for the old knight to reach out and stop her, she sprinted for a far off clearing that looked like the edge of a mesa.

It wasn't. She'd come across the edge of the flying island, a long cliff too flat to be natural. Beyond that, there were clouds below, mixed with the cheery blue of the sky instead of water. Looking closer but careful to stay away from the edge, she could almost make out the familiar outlines of the mainland, the continent where Malano, Deneuve, and even Zeteginea were all located.

Galnam Lyon pulled her back violently by her neck, dodging her slap as if by rote. "Easy now, Needle-nose. You fall off of here, and you've had it. I doubt that even Verlaine or Mischa could get to you in time."

She sighed. So Aisha Forris had shared her childhood nickname before departing. The words alone brought her image to mind. "I wasn't going to fall, bounty hunter. Give me some credit, at least. Just taking in the sights, that's all. Rauny and Ara will love this. It really _is _a Sky Island."

To her annoyance, the Beast Lord did not seem affected by awe or wonderment like the rest of them. "Hard to find a better hiding place than this, I gotta admit. Luvalon's gonna_ freak_ when he can't find us."

"Everyone is safe, then?", she looked over at Ashe expectantly. "Everyone made it through safely?"

"Everyone in our group", the captain nodded solemnly. "All of the fliers. Everyone else...", his face fell. "All dead, most likely. I know Luvalon. To him, duty and the law is a deity greater than Freya. If Empress Endora's desire is the death of all rebels, then he shan't rest until it is done."

"Gods damn him", Gilbert seconded, finished dispatching his pets on a scouting run of the island. "We were close. So close to Malano and the prince. If that bastard hadn't shown up-"

"We deal with the present", Ashe cut in harshly. "I'll organize a head count. We need to figure just how many of us are left... not to mention where we go from here."

Finished her own patrol of the area, Rauny spoke up in more rapid Zeteginean. "She says that's easy", Norn translated. "We go back down to Malano, find Prince Tristan and defeat Baron Apros." The Muse gave her an irked look. "They desired a clean delivery of your message, I'm sure they don't mind I omitted all the curse words."

"A bold plan, but no", Ashe said. "We have no idea as to the status of the 6th Legion, and we need to reorganize ourselves before attempting another offensive."

"Now hold on there", Lyon stepped up. "Just who said that you were the one who was gonna be leader now? I didn't hear anything from the boss about that, care to fill me in?"

Disdainful of him as ever, Saradin pulled back his marine blue hood. "It's the logical choice, Beast Lord. Captain Ashe was placed by Destin as the second-in-command of Lans Hamilton's division. Lans was _Destin's_ second-in-command, and you can't tell me that Lans confided in you more than he."

"And look where that got 'im", the younger man scoffed, pulling his whip taut and making Gilbert reach for his own weapon. "Sorry pops, but leading armies is a job for the young."

While Ashe merely looked amused by this, Saradin Carm puffed up to his full height. "Ex_cuse_ me? You want to lead? Perhaps redraw the pay scheme as well? I'd rather put the werewolf in charge than have you."

"You don't get a say, hoss", Lyon shot back into the wizard's face, ignoring a distressed torrent of Highland-speak from Rauny. "You've barely been with us a week. We need someone who knows who the best fighters are, and knows how to use 'em right!"

"How would you decide then? The Court of Swords?"

"If you think you-"

"Lans got us into-"

"ENOUGH!"

Everyone's eyes searched in vain for the source of the shout before resting on someone they hadn't even noticed was listening. A mere apprentice swordsman, and young despite a handful of facial scars. He looked as shocked as anyone by the outburst, but swiftly descended into tears. "Just like that time", he said. "Just like at Pogrom Forest. Please, no more yelling. Not in this place. Please stop."

Gilbert thought for a moment and realized that the young man had been one of the rebellion's very first recruits, even present for the taking of his own castle in Sharom. Unlike most of the remaining division leaders, he'd been present for the time when Destin had become trapped in the Pogrom forest, had seen how quickly they had turned on each other. Like Gilbert himself, he was a born peacemaker. Tsuno Balakai's group, he recalled. One of the low-caliber soldiers assigned to guard the mages in battle as they slung spells.

"Thank you, lad", he murmured. "It's not as though we need to decide upon this _now_, is it? Destin, may the Gods safeguard his soul, kept us marching hard from the moment we made shorefall at Diaspola. Give them some downtime. Let us rest here a while until the coast is clear, for without Brunhild I doubt the Empire shall ever find us here." He did not yet wish to bring up the possibility of using the island as a permanent sanctuary, for the suggestion would surely sound like a surrender coming from one who had already given up once.

The feuding leaders took that in slowly, mulling it over until Ashe piped up again. "Agreed. I think we're all a little on edge right now. Hardly surprising. We'll talk more after we've explored this island, and for the time being-"

"Shut up", Lyon interrupted, putting up one hand. Seeing the offense on the others' faces, he shook his head and crouched down. "No seriously, be quiet. Someone's coming. Lots of someones."

Gilbert saw Canopus stop mid-flight and then he heard it too. Marching, coming from where the island spread out to the west of the connecting tower. Just over the rise, it sounded like.

Canopus descended, a fast power dive that looked incredibly dangerous but left him unharmed. "Red scarves", he reported grimly. "Muses and dragons and... others I can't quite make out. Eagle clanners?"

"The Empire", Ashe whispered, close to full panic even as he drew Brunhild. "How did they find us so quickly? They can't access the Chaos Gate without this!"

"We'll ask 'em", Lyon offered in-between calling his pets back to act as the foundation of a battle line, yelling at others to rally near them. "We'll make sure to leave at least one alive so they can talk" He offered the other division leaders a confident smirk. "Have to make things a little challenging, after all!"

Saradin looked like he was going to mock the mercenary's bluster again, but then the enemy arrived and there was no time to do anything but call the wanderers back to fight for their lives in a place that, mere moments ago, had seemed a flying paradise.

* * *

CASTLE XANADU

As he made his customary entrance to court of Endora, Rashidi Light found it ironic that for all his power, earthquakes, tornadoes, blizzards, floods, no spell he possessed could cure a headache. He had a vicious one assaulting him now that only promised to get worse as the day went on, but he tried his best to look cheerful as the others took their positions.

"So the attack at Allamoot was a feint", the Empress was concluding, speaking to a glum-looking lord Hikash. "Is there no sign of where the actual strike was?"

"There was", another answered, a hooded magician with an eyepatch serving as general Luvalon's long-distance messenger. "The attack was blunted. The rebels attempted to sneak into Malano through the desert valley of Kastro. Thanks to some good fortune on our part, general Luvalon discovered them and sent the 6th into the valley. When I left, they were in the process of combing the valley's network of caves and canyons for the remaining enemy."

"Good fortune", the Black Queen mused, lying back in her throne. "Long had I forgotten that such a thing existed, for us. We should have sent Tanaburs out first, do you not agree?"

"We were not aware of the danger they posed at the time, Empress", Hikash offered, oddly meek for one of his massive size, armor and stature. "And Tanaburs' legion lacks the mobility of the force Debonair commanded. They would have taken much longer to get to Zenobian shores and by that time, the capital might have fallen already, without even a fight."

"Quite right, Hikash", she nodded. Rashidi wondered just which herbs she was using to stop herself from collapsing into fits. Or perhaps the recent good news had abated the hallucinations for now. "Still, Tanaburs _is_ to be commended for his work. He barely says a word at these meetings, so I had forgotten just how loyal and capable that boy truly is. Likewise for his teacher", she nodded emphatically towards the Supreme Overlord. "Is there still no sign?"

Hikash looked surprised at Endora's candor as much as her sudden good health. "T-th... I thank you, my lady. But there is no sign of _Rauncorintha_ yet. Apros is furious, says we've made him look like a fool in front of his peers."

"I would think he would be more upset about the money wasted", Cale Previa quipped, the 3rd and only Deva present in the flesh for this meeting. "If he says he's found her, lord, I'd check the ceremony over very carefully for a wig, and signs of Goth changing hands."

Rashidi almost laughed out loud at that one, but he held his tongue when he saw how grim-faced the Supreme Overlord was. He had to be taking the loss hard, mayhap seeing it as a personal insult to him. "Never fear, lord Vinzalf. You _do_ have three other children, do you not?"

It was his turn to surprise the _Drei_-Deva with such a remark. Previa might have dared say it to anyone but his master and teacher, but the Sage had no such restrictions on him. Who was more daring than Rashidi? Yet, Hikash did not even appear to blink at the barbs being leveled at him from both sides. "I plan to return to Fort Allamoot", he announced. "From there, I can keep an eye on our remaining holdings in Malano, as well as remain in position to reinforce Luvalon if he gets into trouble. Half the rebels are yet unaccounted for."

"And you, general?", Endora asked, rising from her seat. "What is the status of Antalia at present?"

"Hopping, your majesty", general Previa admitted after seconds of trying to find a funny joke to describe the renegade province. There wasn't one. "_Haaswein_ keep launching forays into the surrounding cities, kidnapping citizens. We beat them back every time, but every time they return for more."

The Deva looked over towards Hikash. "Master. I know full well that healers are at a premium right now, but there's so _many_ undead around there that it's getting to be a real pain in the ass. I've lost fifteen good people this week alone, and we never found any of the bodies. You know what that means."

"That Omicron is a plague", Hikash growled, his wrath at last rekindled by the mention of Imperial soldiers' bodies being so desecrated by the forbidden practice of necromancy. "Does he merely wish to transform that entire region's population into the undead?"

"It's hard to say", Previa scratched his snow-white hair. "We do intercept the occasional ritual sacrifice, but all the cultists we capture just blather on about the usual tripe. 'The end is nigh. The Imprisoned One cometh, hail lord Galfgaron, all hope is lost, repent now.' That sort of thing. Not exactly helpful to us."

"Indeed", Rashidi shook his head at the man pityingly. He'd seen enough such cults in his time to know most of their followers as weak-willed fools, desperate to find some greater purpose to be a part of since they had none of their own. What greater purpose might there be than to be the herald of a prophesied Armageddon? "Yet if Omicron is backing them, this may be more than the usual fare."

"Then who better to assist us than Rashidi?", Endora remarked. "If your 'special' task is complete, that is."

"It is." In fact, _that_ might have been the reason for his headache. Mayhap he wasn't as accustomed to vertigo as he'd thought? "The Sky Knights are all intact and ready to serve you, Empress. They are no slouches either, as I can well attest."

That much was the honest truth- he'd taxed himself to his limits fighting Slust the Red, Fenril of Ice, and finally Fogel the Cursed over the course of only a few days. None of these living legends had allowed the centuries of isolation to affect their skills, and shortly after Fogel he had slept for an entire day until he could walk again.

Despite this, it had been gratifying to see his own skills had not slipped as they often did with magic-users. Almost as gratifying as finally placing his hands upon the_ true_ goal of the excursion.

If only all his magic could cure this damned headache...

"Well done", Endora acknowledged. "But why then have you not brought them before me?"

"That", he forced a tone of regret in there. "Was the reason why the 7th legion did not return with me."

Her elegant eyes darkened. It would have scared a teenager, but not him. "Explain."

* * *

SKY ISLAND MUSPELM

It wasn't until after the last enemy had fled the battle that Canopus Walf took a closer look at one of the fallen and let out a gasp of shock. Seeing him step back, Gilbert at first feared that yet another one of his clan had been killed in action. Bending down, his friend lifted the slender corpse for all nearby to see.

"I... I don't believe this", the Wind Rider stammered once Gilbert had gotten closer. "Look at this one. And that one. And that one over there. Wings. Halos. They're _Angels_, Gilbert. They're our ancestors."

He looked the body over carefully. While it did bear many signs of the bird-people he'd spent much of his life getting to know, there were other key differences that coincided too much with with the legends to be faked.

These beings possessed less animal-like wings, along with luminescent, nearly golden skin which had not yet lost its glow despite the ash gray of death already encroaching upon the body. "They live", he realized with a jolt. Across the way, Arbalow looked equally disturbed. More so. "They _live_. They lived here all this time. This flying island must be their sanctuary from the human world."

"Was", another bird man, a more recent recruit, said brokenly. "Now it's just another battleground. How did the Gods-damned _Imperials_ get up here? How did they force the people here to serve them? They do not belong here! None of us do!" He turned away from the winged bodies as though they burned his eyes to behold. "By the Bretnach Nabor... This feels like sacrilege, lord. They're our ancestors, our template! I cannot go on."

The other Hawk clanners looked similarly affected, but as Gilbert watched, it was Canopus who first broke out of the freeze and closed his eyes in quiet resignation. "There _must_ be a reason, Cestus. We owe it to them to learn it, and to free them from whatever it is. I cannot imagine our ancestors going along with such bastards willingly, unless they are a great deal different from what we were taught as hatchlings."

"They're not", the beast man nodded, helping his friend to his feet. "I could sense that even as we fought. The rest of them were standard Imperial- 7th legion, it looked like- but the angels were reluctant to fight us, and that was their downfall. They hesitated, and so died."

He sensed the same thing from the next wave of angels after that, augmented by doll magi and wyrms but actually weaker than the first if one went by injuries suffered. It was then that the rebels' abbreviated army found the first true sign of civilization on the island; a cluster of what looked like large bone-white seashells which the occupants had turned into structures. Though Gilbert had come expecting another attack, the people here merely looked resentful, not hostile.

"Do not be afraid", Canopus began carefully. "We've merely come here seeking shelter. I desire to speak with your leader. Where are they?"

Despite their ethereal beauty, none of the winged people looked at all inviting. After a stretch of discomfort, one woman with pale blue bangs and feathers stepped forward and nodded, speaking in a halting dialect that was yet more legible than Rauny or a Deneuvian. "You are half-breed? One of the _rijaani_?"

"I am", the Wind Rider looked relieved. "Long ago, my ancestors left the Sky Islands behind and chose to live in the world below instead. After many generations, our ancestral home had become nothing but a legend. I am glad to see that's not the case."

The blue angel sighed. "And we have tried for millenia to keep it that way. Now you spread your war into the heavens themselves, destroying our homes and loved ones without heed. I think you had best leave, half-breed."

Gilbert was surprised to see his experienced friend blanch at that, and took a moment to step up for him. "Now hold on. It was not we who brought this conflict to the Sky Islands. The Imperials were here first. They are the ones to blame."

"Be silent, human", she ordered, and everyone could sense the way several of her people tensed up to enforce her will if needed. "You know _nothing_ of us. You need only know that the longer you and the _rijaani _remain here, the more destruction you shall visit upon our sanctuary. Go now. Return to your hellhole."

Seeing no other options, the advance party returned to Ashe and Lyon's groups. "We cannot leave", the old knight said right off, looking into Brunhild for guidance. "The flood is past, but the valley is yet crawling with Imperial troops. We have to remain here for now, keep the Chaos Gate under watch until it is safe to return."

Lyon did not say a word, merely flicking his beady eyes over to a rock formation and whistling. Quenaya let out a weltering screech, and grabbed the figure who had been tailing them in both claws before they could flee.

The spy was another angel, younger looking than most with dirty-blond feathers and hair. He was quick to decide that struggling against the dragon would be useless, simply waiting for Ashe to pass sentencing.

"And you would be?"

"Alore", the angel said without fear. "I only followed you so that I could explain the truth to you rebels... for you may be our only hope."

"Not what your leader says."

Alore took a deep breath. "I believe that- this time- Elysia _is_ wrong. We cannot simply wait for this to pass over. We must find some way to free Lord Slust!"

Seeing the reaction around their temporary campsite, Lyon studied the winged boy carefully. "Something I missed?"

"Slust the Red", Ashe stammered. "Just another piece of history, though even older than Saradin."

"No wonder I've never heard of him." Saradin decked him.

"If the boy is telling the truth", Gilbert pointed out. "Somehow, a miracle like this doesn't seem so out-of-place here. If humanity's progenitors can hide up on flying islands, then why not the three champions of the Ogre Battle?"

"But he has changed", the boy moaned. "Ever since that strange man came, Slust doesn't see anyone anymore. I'm worried. You have to find him, find out what's wrong."

"Sounds easy enough", Lyon said. "How much?"

The angel blinked. "Pardon?"

"You know. Our emolument. Goth."

"Goth? What is Goth?"

Gilbert nearly laughed as his fellow Beast Lord ran off to cuss up a storm behind a bush. "We'll do this one for free, Alore. Think of it as a means for us to earn our keep here. I would assume that the castle to the southwest of here is lord Slust's home?"

He nodded. "Muspelm Citadel, the heart of the island. It also contains the mechanisms which control the island's flight, or so I'm told. We've never actually been in the castle basement, even during Lord Slust's parties."

"Parties?"

"Yes. Lord Slust- at least before that man came- was always a merry soul, despite his rank and history."

"A partying Angel", Gilbert chuckled, saw Canopus' stern face, and thought better of it. "Now I've seen everything. Let us go."

* * *

The rebellion was fortunate enough to only encounter two more large enemy groups before coming upon Castle Muspelm. Neither posed a serious threat, leaving Gilbert just enough time to notice the way Canopus was lagging behind in his movements, nearly indistinguishable from his comrades until he was forced to hang back and confront his friend directly.

"Something wrong, my friend? Did the healers not attend to your arm correctly?"

"It's not about Ares", the Wind Rider claimed, eyes cast to the pristine grass beneath their feet as he landed, somehow healthier than any they'd ever seen before. "Hn. Then again, mayhap it is, in part. Seeing him again like that... was not a pleasant experience."

Gilbert nodded as they walked. "Ares made his choice long ago. Do not dwell overlong upon what you had to do, for I am certain Rauny is grateful, though unable to communicate it well in our language."

"The same choice that so many of my people have made", he spat. "And now, seeing this wonderful place... We've _always_ been the outcasts in the world of humans. Now, when we have finally returned to the home that my people left behind, we are no more welcome here than down below. _Rijaani... 'Half-Breeds'. _I am the leader of the largest bird clan in this world, yet in all this time I have done nothing to find us a home where we can be free of prejudice. I am... powerless."

Now Gilbert wished that Yulia Walf had come up here with them instead of being scattered like the rest of their runners and suppliers. The bird-girl could snap her brother out of a funk such as this in moments with a good slap. As things stood, he could only offer his own support, and hope that would be enough to make his friend see just how wrong he was.

"You must not allow your doubts to consume you, my friend. I believe_ that_ is what happened to young Destin. That is Ares' intention. A good warrior knows that one does not merely attack the body of an enemy, but the mind and the heart, as well."

The Wind Rider regarded him uncertainly. "Not once have I witnessed you insult anyone in a duel."

"I said a _good_ warrior. I'm just an old man who knows a few things about taming animals."

He scoffed, dropping the brooding act for now. "_Now _who's doubting themselves?"

Unlike the fortresses that formed the heart of Zenobia's districts or Malano's more individualistic provinces, this one was a simple affair of flat white marble with little visible room for a banquet hall or other luxuries. A line of narrow pillars ran the length of the citadel, with one opening to the south revealing the lack of a palisade gate.

"Of course", Saradin observed when he first saw it. "Why would they ever require such defenses? They've not seen major battles for centuries."

"Why bother", Ashe seconded with an uneasy cough beside him. "When they have a _Sky Knight _to defend them?"

"Planning time, then", Lyon said, motioning the others to a halt before the entry point. "Who wants to go?"

No one volunteered until their target appeared from within the citadel, a lone figure flanked by two golden-skinned dragons with beak-like snouts, far larger than anything most of the rebels had seen before. "Gold Dragons", Gilbert called them out. "This shan't be pleasant. Verlaine and I shall take the left one, I would advise someone capable to handle the other. Someone who isn't tied up with the main course, if you please."

Ashe's next words were cut off by a head-filling screech, which overtook them so badly that it took several seconds to realize the noise had come from the red-armored figure, not the dragons at his side. Slust did indeed wear red armor, a complete enclosure save for a detached helmet that nonetheless brought back memories of Destin.

More surprising was his skin, which like General Luvalon and many other native sons of Deneuve, was a dark brown. A bristly flattop of azure hair contrasted with it, ending high on his scalp to give the impression of an uncommonly large cranium.

"You dare...?", Slust growled, every inch of his face carved with the deepest of outrage, irises shrunken to mere specks. "You _dare_ to bring your war into this sacred place? You _dare_ to defy Rashidi? DIE!"

"Tell you what", Lyon drew his skinning knife with one eye on Ashe, whistling Quenaya up to his side and climbing aboard the dragon. "What'cha say whoever takes this guy down gets a nomination for leader, hn?"

There was no time to argue the wager. All three of their opponents moved at once, with Slust's sudden jump being the fastest to reach them. Ashe and Lyon were there to meet him with sword and breath, while the shaman and monks offered whatever long-distance healing they could. To the right, Rauny and Ara had jumped to engage the dragon not occupied with Gilbert, but before long it was clear that bringing down the creatures would take much longer than anyone had expected.

His opening words seemingly all the banter required, the enraged man sprang, agile as a ninja and well-versed in how to use that momentum against his target. Without warning, Lyon's silver dragon let out a shriek and tumbled to the ground. Forced into a continuous parry, Ashe caught the enemy dragons releasing their own breath out of the corner of his eye and cursed. "_Pes'shyk_. More cold."

Slust the Red didn't comment, intent on beating down his opponent's guard before turning to deck Lyon in the face with the other hand. Spells from Saradin and Tsuno rolled off his armor like water until a lightning bolt struck him. He did not howl in pain, but again released the dragonic screech, nearly deafening the two men closest to him.

"Hey!", Lyon barked once he could hear again. "Stay out of this, ya prune! This's between me and Ashe!"

"Says you!", the Truthsayer called back, almost too distracted to duck stray a blast of ice from Gilbert's opponent. "Looks to me like you need all the help you can get! Don't you agree... miss Norn?"

On cue, an avalanche of healing glow covered both of them, restoring the deep slash wounds Slust's blade had already given them. Norn and two shaman standing off to the side of the conflict, raising their staffs as one until Slust twisted his neck around to spot them. "You _dare_...!"

He flew at them, too fast for anyone to stop, bringing his thin blade down on the neck of one of the women and the rest scattered. For a moment the entire battle group wavered, but Saradin quickly resumed pelting the man with spells of every element he knew. "If any of you kids have an actual plan or something", he mumbled between chantings, "now would be a REALLY good time for it!"

"I do", Ashe spoke up. "But I haven't the strength left to act on it." Seeing he'd gotten the attention of several hopefuls- though not Canopus, disappointingly- he watched as Slust reeled under the barrage. "See that necklace he is wearing?"

Lyon and several others looked. Indeed, the knight was wearing a pendant of what looked like emerald framed in gold, a tear-shape.

"Get it off him. Whatever it takes."

"He's- urgh- right!", Saradin confirmed after collapsing from spell overuse. "I can sense the magic within it. Not his. Rashidi's. I can tell."

Understanding, Lyon and four others rose as one to the challenge. Though vastly inferior to their opponent, they were experienced enough to attack him from all sides as a group no matter how he darted about, able to deflect every hit but unable to land any. Leaping away from them, he landed back atop the steps and waved his blade down. "_Iainuki_!"

They'd all heard the words before, and dodged the same- if overly large- spike of destructive energy... But still Lyon cursed. The technique had only been used to split them up, as demonstrated when Slust pounced again, picking one of the knights apart alone, beheading him before anyone could help. "Good tactics", he had to admit, "for someone who's been stuck up here in lala-land for centuries."

"DIE."

"Yeah yeah, we heard you the first time!" He shifted over, seeing how the red Sky Knight was focusing on him now. "That's right, over here, ya pansy! Don't you ever forget- I'm the number one strongest guy here! I fight like 10,000 men and I _always _win, so you'd better damn well take me seriously!"

"DIE!"

The taunts appeared to be working; Slust was advancing on him at a brisk sprint. So did the next step- a blast of ice breath from behind by Quenaya, grounded but still very much alive. In the same instant, the Beast Lord's weapons flew out; the skinning knife flying through the air as a second diversion and the whip wrapping around one leg to hold it in place. Finally from the side, a charging Valkyrie, lifting the green pendant up off his neck before he could react to the simultaneous attacks.

But _still_ Slust fought on. A kick of the leg sent Lyon sprawling into a pillar and a single swipe released an Iainuki towards the valkyrie. Ducking and rolling, she only pondered a moment before crushing the thing in her hands.

_Now_ Slust reacted, clutching at his head with a more human howl, staggering and nearly falling. "Done", Lyon stared up from the ground, smiling through broken teeth. "I win, hoss."

No one replied, too occupied with the sight of the beleaguered Sky Knight. Seeing their master in such a state, the two Gold Dragons in turn stood down, ready to defend themselves or Slust but no longer actively attacking.

"Urgggh", their master mumbled slowly, his voice no longer choked with fury. "S... somebody tell that carriage to get back here and face the music- WHOAAA! What happened?"

"Old magic", Saradin provided, deferring to Ara's student, the one who had smashed the pendant. "A kind I'd seen my master perform before. This jeweled necklace was controlling you, sir Slust."

The Sky Knight's marble eyes widened. Though no one could see how he would fit wings inside his draconic armor, the twinkle of the divine seen in all the angels so far was still present, along with a self-assured calmness his fury had masked. "Yeah, that's right! It was that Rashidi! He put that necklace on me! Oh man! Sorry about all this, guys! Stand down!"

This last bit was directed to his dragons, who relaxed their guard further still. Without waiting further, Alore elbowed his way through the divisions, beaming at the sight of Muspelm's champion restored. "Thank the Gods! You've returned to normal!"

"Alore! Good to see you!"

"Not quite what we expected", Saradin remarked wryly as the two talked, helping Lyon up off the ground. "But a champion of the Ogre Battle nonetheless." Making sure to catch the eye of as many of the other division leaders as possible, his features slackened to despair. "Just how much are we willing to bet he's done this to the other champions as well?"

"A fool's bet", Gilbert called out, returning from his own duel. "Fenril of Ice and Fogel the Cursed. If Rashidi can find and control one of these hidden islands..."

"But how?", Norn asked, finishing the last of the healing that could be done. "How did he find this place? Even better, how did he use the Chaos Gate without Brunhild?"

"All good questions", Slust said, returning from his audience with the remaining angels. "Sorry to say, I can't really be of much help to you there- the big guy just showed up here with a bunch of troops and started wrecking the joint. I tried stopping them, and this happened to me." Sidling over, he placed one palm to her chin, holding her head up. "But hey, a beautiful lady like yourself shouldn't look so sad. Let me make it up to you guys! Let me join you!"

Saradin recovered first from the impact of such a declaration. "But... what of your people, sir Slust? Did you Sky Knights not swear to defend your realm from external invaders?"

But the knight waved away objections, too energetic and open to be easily denied. "Hey, this _is_ defending Muspelm, pal. Better to fight the bad guys out there than at home, right? And I write like 10,000 men- no, I mean, uh, I _fight _like 10,000 men!"

"I... suppose that makes sense", Saradin muttered. "Welcome aboard, sir Slust."

The red knight nodded, gesturing to the citadel from which he'd come. "But first, we gotta have a victory celebration! My treat!" With that, he began to lead the various divisions toward the citadel, refusing to take no for an answer.

"He stole my line", Lyon complained after he was out of earshot. "Still, he's one tough bastard. Glad he's on our side now."

"Tougher than you'd think, Beast Lord", the Truthsayer concurred. "No man can perform to their full potential while brainwashed like that. What we just experienced was only a fraction of his true strength. Slust is one of the legendary champions in form, if not in mind."

The merc looked sullen. "You just had to spoil my moment, didn't you? Anywho, I won. I get to lead now, right?"

"Wrong", the woman who had destroyed the pendant said. "I'm the one who stopped him. If we're going by this asinine means of determining the leader- and I most sincerely hope we're _not_- I nominate Lady Vinzalf, with miss Norn as her translator."

"Hmph. Killjoy. I should-"

Saradin let them argue for a minute before rapping the citadel steps hard with his staff to get their attention. "Neither", he announced. "None, at least for now."

Several stared at him as though he'd gone mad, but he could see Ashe and Gilbert slowly understanding. "

We've taken some big hits. All of us. That, there is no denying. Destin gone. Lans gone. It could be we'll never be the same again. But! Our purpose remains clear. _We _are the Zenobian Liberation Army, not them. Even if we were to be pared down to a single man, our cause would yet remain. We proved that much just now, a dozen skilled mortals defeating a living legend. So stand tall, and be proud. Remember _hope_. It yet endures."

"For now we wait", Ashe agreed after a moment, shaking off frank embarrassment at how poorly he'd performed in the aforementioned fight. "I dare not lead in my condition, and none would accept Lyon, or even Gilbert after all the time he spent as the Empire's puppet."

"Nor would I desire to", Gilbert said in all seriousness. "Only under extreme need, for the sake of the people, might I do so. What about him?"

The division leaders stared as one. Canopus Walf was already flying off into the distance, giving no sign that he'd heard them. Not interested? No longer wishing to be a part of them?

Summoning Mischa, Gilbert went after him to find out.

* * *

SKY CITY ELINNA, MUSPELM

Canopus Walf watched the people from above, taking care not to let the movement of his wings give him away. Those down there, angels and the occasional refugee they had taken in, went about their business oblivious to the two men and one Wyvern soaring fifty feet above them.

"They are not your people", Gilbert said, knowing from the start exactly what was eating his friend. If the bird-man had a true fault, it was how easily he allowed depression to overtake him at times. "The Clans are your people, and they've achieved much more in the past century than these ones have."

"My people are blasphemous half-breeds", Canopus declared, hawk eyes never leaving the people below them. "The blood of the divine. Mingled, _tainted_ with the blood of lesser creatures from below. We should never have come to exist."

_Worse than I thought_. Doubtless he'd been talking to Alore's high-strung mother; the blue angel and her ilk. Again, he wished Yulia was here to help. "As one of those 'lesser creatures', I think I shall be a gent and ignore that."

"They had no war", the Wind Rider implored, in absolute reverence for his distant ancestors. "They have no murder or slavery or even theft. They live for hundreds of years, all of them wise. This place was a _paradise_, free from sin until we contaminated it."

"Until Rashidi and Empire contaminated it."

"Until_ humanity_ contaminated it, as they do to everything they touch", he snapped back at him just as quickly. "Do you think it matters to them which petty political faction from the underworld invaded their sanctuary, and enslaved their guardians? NO! To them, all those below are creatures of depravity, as anathema as the denizens of Antanjyl would be to us should they ever emerge in force. They have _every right_ to reject us, Gilbert."

"But not to persecute you", the dragon tamer said, for once finding something he could get behind with all his heart. No man ever deserved such treatment from those he had shown naught but respect for. "However it was that it happened, the Clans were created long before you existed, my friend. You cannot help being what you are. And personally, I much prefer you this way."

The bird was versed enough with humans to know when he was being buttered, even if Gilbert was completely genuine. At the moment however, he did not seem to care. "This is _my_ responsibility. When this war is over... I shall lead my people here. All of them, be they Hawk, Eagle, or Raven. All the Clans deserve to experience the home they never knew. They shall be shunned, but no more than they are now in the world of humans." Turning back, he did not smile, simply studying the pristine landscape below them closely. "My only wish is that they might find an angel who is like you."

"Has to be", he assured him. "Alore isn't some freak accident. I knew at least some of these folk would see reason. Cute kid, really."

The Wind Rider tucked in his wings, swooping back towards the citadel in such a way that everyone would see him. "Then no matter what, the future's assured."

* * *

MUSPELM CITADEL, UNDERGROUND

"Here it is, guys!", Slust proclaimed proudly, lighting the torches in the darkened chamber until all could see what lay within. "We just call it the Chock."

The device was massive. Not a high-tech looking piece, but the sheer volume was impressive. Two columns from a pit in the center rising into a large globe. Above that, a single metal rod strong enough to withstand gale-force winds and worse traveling up into the ceiling, flanked by protrusions Saradin took to be steering vanes.

"I can sense the magic", he admired. "So powerful. This device truly allows you to control the flight path of the entire island?"

"You got it", Slust beamed. "Of course, most of the time we just leave it to the set course around the human country called Malano. Sky's pretty much the same wherever you go, right? The only thing we have to make sure of is that our course never runs into one of the other islands'. That... would be bad."

"Indeed", Ashe said thoughtfully, looking the contraption over. "The other islands. How do you contact them then?"

"Rarely", Slust admitted. "Not much to say to each other, really. Not much changes. Every few years we'll have a 'meet' at a particular trade stories and stuff. Not really my bag, 'cause Fenril always yells at me."

"How many others are there?"

"Four", he answered. "Well, five if you count both halves of Fogel's place, but they travel together. Shangrila's the biggest one."

"And the most secluded from the others", Saradin observed after studying a moving tapestry which apparently charted the routes of each island. A circular red trail denoting Muspelm, a slightly larger blue one called 'Organa', a chaotic black path labelled 'Shiguld', and then a bright gold path over a huge chunk of Zeteginea, a good distance from the rest.

"Yeah, they're kind of a snooty bunch over there in Shangrila." Slust scratched his head sheepishly. "Dunno why."

Ashe's lip curled. "Echelons amongst echelons. But regardless of how high they place themselves above others, nothing will save them from the Empire, now they know where you are."

"Dunno how they did that either", Slust said, looking sad for the first time since they'd met him. "Maybe one of the others knew something, kept me out of the loop. In case you didn't notice, I'm not exactly the primero model for 'Heavenly Knight' here."

"We... didn't wish to impose", Norn smiled, strangely unbothered by how the first thing the Sky Knight had done upon gaining his freedom was try to hit on her. "But I can relate- _Kaus_ wasn't the ideal Deva either. What happened, anyway?"

The man blinked, not sure what she meant for a moment. "Oh. Well. I've always been me, right? I am who I am. Doesn't stop you from slaying Ogres."

The Sky Knight was the only one not shocked by such a cavalier statement. The Ogres were the stuff of the very worst of nightmares in humanity's world- the most depraved and powerful creatures in all Zenobian or Zeteginean mythology.

"They're _real_, then", Norn found herself again, feeling faint at the word. This truly was Muspelm. The people were truly were _angels_... "The very progenitors of what we now call 'Evil' today. You fought them from the first dawn of this world, when the Gods shaped it from stone." Even had Slust not been the way he was, this would have been hard for any of them to digest.

"It's been a very long time", was all the red knight could think of to say to her. "Beast boy was right about me losing my edge with nobody to fight. I didn't mind that so much, but the truth is, I'm nowhere near as good as I was back then. Fenny and Fogel too, though they'll never admit it."

"Sounds familiar", Saradin noted, hunched over the tapestry in thought. "There are doubtless many questions that we might wish to ask you about that age of the world, Lord Slust, but I can tell you're already tired of interrogation. So, I shall only ask you one more thing."

"And they call you humans savage animals!", Slust chortled, pleased with their courtesy. "Ask away, my good man."

Saradin pointed. "What... is..._ that_?"

Slust stared, inviting the rest to do the same. The blue dot on the tapestry had shifted course, a new line extending itself to the north where intersected with the red. "Fenny", Slust murmured after several seconds. "You just can't stay away from me, can you?"

"What... do you mean?"

The persona of the irresponsible lecher dropped in a flash, Slust closed his dark-lidded eyes tight. "It's Fenril of Ice. My first love. Or rather, it's the Sky Isle Organa that's coming right towards us. But Fenny would never allow Organa's Chock to be set on a collision course like this. Unless..."

There was no need to finish the thought. Everyone knew the answer. "They'll be here in an hour or so", Slust said. "I'll have one of my people man the Chock and try to evade them. But Organa's a bit smaller than this place, and a bit more nimble too. Sooner or later, they'll catch up. And then..."

"A kamikaze", Ashe understood, watching the blue dot ascend along its thread towards its new destination. "Do not tell your pilot to try to buy us too much time. Better still to focus on close passes, and so avoid a direct collision."

Slust blinked in reckoning. "They would do that, wouldn't they? If Fenny wasn't brainwashed, she'd say it was a total blasphemy, and utterly disgraceful to us knights, and all that. Why the close passes?"

"So that we can launch an attack of our own", a new voice piped into the Chock room. Canopus Walf, stepped through the doorway with Gilbert Oblion at his side. Both looked deadly serious.

"I cannot say if they shall launch their own forces from the island, but with what we've learned about what Rashidi's done here, anything can happen. The only way we can possibly win is if we capture the island's citadel and take control before they collide. That means an aerial battle."

"Your favorite kind", Ashe said. "You saw the other island, Organa?"

"Far away but getting closer all the time", the bird man nodded grimly. His eyes had already spotted the threatening dot on the horizon.

"_Pidzets_". The old knight palmed his brow. "Gods know I never wanted to be the leader of this bunch, and for this kind of fight we absolutely need someone experienced in flying battles. If Lyon protests, I'll punch him until he shuts up."

"How about it, then?", Gilbert asked wryly from behind him, a fresh pipe in his hand. "We're behind you,master Walf. Every step of the way, 'till the Thirteenth takes us. There's no man I'd rather follow."

"Hawk-man."

"Same thing."

Stepping further into the room, the bird man made a show of considering it, palming the central dais which apparently operated the Chock. "Then let us make ready. Every division must have an aerial component to transport them by the time the enemy arrives."

"I can help with that", Slust offered. "Griffins in the menagerie. Not combat-hardened, but they can sure as shadows move you where you need to be. I'll come with you- we have to stop Fenny. I'm sure that's what she wants, too."

* * *

CASTLE ZENOBIA

"Destiny's Child has passed beyond my sight then", Warren Moon concluded after his_ fourth_ reading devoid of the blank Tarot's usual shifting nature. It had not changed for many days. "Stuck on Arcana Number 15. The Devil."

It wasn't fear that had kept him up here in the scrying tower for long periods of time, often neglecting sleep and food until the castle's majordomo insisted he come down for a quick bite. For a while yes, he had believed that Destin Faroda might appear before him, overwhelmed with the hurt and longing that had driven him from the front lines, and drive Kalanbolg's steel into his chest in indiscriminate rage...

Yet, this prospect was not met with fear. No, no. Fear had dominated far too many of his decisions as of late. If Destin came, he would not find a cowering old man desperate to escape his ultimate fate, but a Sage _well aware_ of the mistakes he'd made that had led them to this point, and willing to accept judgment. It was always the way- he'd seen it countless times. A mortal man would commit most heinous acts out of fear they might never consider otherwise, and the guilt of that act intensify their fear of facing the consequences further still. A single misstep condemning them to a rising darkness.

He would not fall for that same trap.

The rebellion would survive his death, that was what was truly important now. It had survived Destin's departure, and would continue on the course he had laid down, ensuring the vision that had terrified him so on the eve of their victory at the capital would not come to pass. He had not shown Lans everything, just enough to understand the true stakes at hand.

"Yet", he considered sadly, studying the upside-down Tower card, "might we have pushed too far in the other direction? Make Destiny's Child too strong and he ushers in a new Empire of atrocity and might. Make them too weak... and Zeteginea triumphs and we have solved nothing. An eternal night for mankind lies on both sides of the scale." The balanced approach, neither side overwhelming the other without effort, was the only way the reading showed that would ensure the permanent end of such a despotism.

If Destin did not come and find him, then he had to find Destin. Long ago had he foretold that the lad would be needed to liberate Zenobia from oppression without advance knowledge of exactly _why_. Though that much had been achieved, the cards offered no hint as to which side would triumph without Destin's continued presence affecting their fortunes. He had to keep him available, restoring whatever wound Albeleo had given him _without_ bringing back that blind arrogance which had marked his final days of command. For a moment Warren envied the rebellion- at least their objectives were right there in front of them, plain as day and easy to figure out who to kill.

Then there was the matter of Sage Rashidi, the Empire's own 'star player'. In all the time that they had fought, Warren had not found the slightest hint of what had driven his old friend to betray his sworn brothers wholesale and attempt to create a world-spanning Empire from the five kingdoms. What was its purpose? Did all Sages not forsake material pleasures, taking oaths of poverty for greater wisdom and altruism? Even with all the impossibilities that he had witnessed, he could not quite believe that all of the solemn vows the Light Sage had taken upon joining the council were false. Too many of the Sages had been gifted Truthsayers like Saradin Carm for that to be the case.

It was a long and difficult conundrum to be sure, and he had a feeling none of the answers would be coming to him swiftly no matter how he searched the Arcana for them. So it was that he welcomed a momentary diversion as the majordomo, a portly man with strangely orange-hued hair and beard, burst into his chamber, haggard from the run up the steps.

"Esteemed Sage. Had I anyone else to turn to-"

"No matter. I wasn't doing anything important anyway. Out with it. What is wrong?"

The man looked around at the ceremonial markings for a moment before remembering where he was. "T'is Castle Valparin, my lord. I've received word a fight has broken out there."

Warren's face lit up with comprehension. "Ah, Deneb! Of course! If there's anyone who could bring him back where he is needed, it would be his beloved harlequin. We must speak with her, arrange something..."

"Lord, you don't understand", the majordomo cut in with just a touch of irritation. "This isn't another bunch of angry peasants. The fight is_ inside_ Deneb's castle. Captain Nakimedes is missing, presumed dead. I've lost all contact with the men we posted there."

Warren rose, immediately considering the first possibility- that Deneb Rhodes had done something in an attempt to break out of her gilded prison that was causing a great deal of chaos- and dismissing it almost as quickly. Where could she possibly go? Castle Valparin remained the safest and most comfortable place for the witch, and not once had she expressed any violent desire to escape.

"Assassins", he spoke aloud the next possibility. "The farmers of Valparin _loathe_ her, and would spend any money to see her killed. We must depart at once. Bring along every able-bodied man and beast you can find, I shall assist you as much as I can. Deneb must not be killed."

He held no love for the sultry pink witch, but the cold-blooded murder of his newest game piece was not desirable either. He paused a moment, breath catching his throat. Might it even be the culmination? The final stroke which pushed Destiny's Child too far past his breaking point to ever recover from it?

They were going to find out together.

* * *

SKIES OVER MALANO

The enemy did not even wait as long as Canopus had figured before unleashing their attack. Slender and almost triangular in shape, Isle Organa rode higher than Muspelm, looming over its settlements in a massive shadow as a prelude to the coming destruction.

Boiling from its side came many dozens of flying attackers. Imperial soldiers on black dragons and griffins, reluctant angel conscripts, and even Raven clanners. The apparent leader of these enemies, a green-clothed witch aboard a broom, bellowed orders as she led the swarm in bombing runs upon a hapless populace, indiscriminate and merciless.

Then, the rebellion answered them. A phalanx of fireballs shot up from a cluster of tall rocks and incinerated a cockatrice. From another, blasts of valkyrie-summoned lightning ate into the enemy formation. Finally, as the two slowly-maneuvering islands reached a point where they were vertically level with each other, six airborne divisions were released from Muspelm citadel into the fray in the open sky between them, the Wind Rider at their head.

He had at least expected the chaos that followed. Few of the rebels or Imperials had ever experienced such a crowded air battle at this dizzying height. Without an experienced flier to lead them, they might all be lost to panic, then sent plummeting to a certain death several vertical miles below. Acting on that assumption, he dodged a lightning bolt before zeroing in on the witch's stun cloud, the ghost Halla and a dragon-mounted Lyon right behind him.

They never reached her. A red blur shot through the sky, and she toppled from the broom with a high shriek that reminded him of Yulie.

Slust the Red, of course. The Sky Knight had not chosen a flying mount of his own, electing simply to use the incredible jumping prowess his colleagues all shared to ricochet between the closing rock faces, managing to strike an enemy at least half the time. He did not speak, so focused on the battle was he, and already he had accounted for three mounted fliers plus the witch by himself.

Two minutes of airborne chaos after that, Canopus decided it was time. The enemy yet lingered, but they were not the true objective here. Letting loose a screech more akin to a griffin was the signal for all those yet unharmed in the fighting to travel across the gap, and for all the rest to pull back and hold their ground on Muspelm.

Once there, his division looked around from above. Organa seemed much the same as the previous Sky Island, aesthetically pleasing with fields of healthy grass and crops everywhere one looked. Unlike Muspelm was a pattern of clean rivers that divided the island into smaller portions of land before spilling off into the abyss, but this did not impede his eagle's eyes as they searched the river system for a white marble citadel identical to the one on Muspelm, no doubt containing the same magical steering device.

Would it be Fenril herself who manned this Chock, intent on steering her homeland into the mutual annihilation of both isles, along with all those who lived upon them?

A terrible grinding noise of rock and rubble drew him back to reality, the rising house-sized dust cloud a clear sign that whatever deranged person was controlling Organa had partially succeeded already, managing a damaging scrape if not a direct hit with the rebel-controlled island. _Only a matter of time. Have to hurry._

He did not know the logistics of the magic that had been used to keep the isles suspended in the sky for centuries- it was incredible power indeed, perhaps surpassing even that of the Sage Rashidi- but a flying island form of earth and stone such as this would not hold up to such elementary stresses for long. Ready or not, his division swooped down before the citadel, Cestus and Moraine quick to engage the single Iron Golem stationed to guard it.

Ahead, the second Sky Knight appeared wearing bright blue armor absolutely identical to Slust's. Though beautiful with dirty-snow hair common among Highlanders, her face was currently pulled into the same expression of utter outrage as his had once been, her mighty sword already drawn in the same fashion as the first Sky Knight. "You _dare_ to bring your war into this sacred place? You _dare_ to defy Rashidi? DIE!"

There were no dragons to be seen, yet the Wind Rider faltered. The first, strangely_ dragon_-shaped Iainuki shot out, missing Canopus by several feet but leaving a meter-deep fissure in the earth behind it. In the air he was safe, but neither could he get close enough to strike any blows. He could only wait, hovering out of reach until one of the other rebels arrived to-

Fenril sprang, flying into the air to take him in the gut with her sword.

_Cannot... In only one...?_

Just like that he fell, deafened to the cries of his comrades by the sudden fuzziness that had crept into his head, drowning out all sensation.

_Have to- I cannot-_

He awoke to the sound of Slust's voice, the man trying to reason with his old comrade and finding it fruitless. "Fenny, please!", he pleaded. "Listen to me! You have to stop this! I know this isn't what you want! You have to fight it!"

"DIE!"

He could not move, only watch. Watch as the two clashed, neither one able to get in a telling blow. Watch as Fenril's next spirit technique swept past its target and turned a riverbank to ashes.

Watch as another bird man bled to death off to his left, the red paint markings on the body's wings that only Moraine had made his custom.

He screeched and screeched, not caring if he disrupted Slust's concentration or even brought the citadel down upon them. Jurai and Jumai dead. Arbalow dead. And now, Moraine... Every singe Hawk clanner who had originally rallied to him had fallen. Just as Lans and countless other humans had fallen.

They were only half-breeds. They could not compare to the original template. It was futile to even try...

_Whatcha doin', big bro?_

He looked up, not believing what he'd heard. Yulia stood before him, ignoring the fighting going on all around them and unharmed by it as of yet. _What? How could-_

_Pretty, isn't she?_

His sister- if it was truly her- was clearly referring to the embattled Sky Knight. And what she said was true.

_Too pretty to be Rashidi's slave. Too noble to cause all this. An angel. A divine one. Like you, big bro._

The words were enticing, yet still he sagged beneath his injuries. He was no divine one. Only-

_Only nothing_, Yulie scolded him in the same way she always had. _You're _here_ now. You're the leader of your people. You always worry about how you've never done anything for them. Do you think the Hawk clan would've made a coward their leader? Was our father a coward?_

_That's not- _He stopped, squinting hard. "You cannot be real! You are not Yulie!"

_Okay, I'm not Yulie. That means I'm a figment of your imagination and too much blood in the head._

_That means what I'm saying is what you really believe._

The fuzziness partially drained away, he stood and waited for his hallucination to disappear the same way, as he knew it would.

_You want to do something for our people? Something great? Then show that poor lady just how strong a 'half-breed' can be. Show her how great our people really are. I know you can, bro._

"Yes", he whispered, wings flaring unconsciously. "I can."

And he did. So distracted by the duel with Slust was she that by the time Fenril turned to spot the charging bird man, he was less than half a second away from slamming into her at full speed. The sword came down once more and cut away half a wing, but he did not allow howling in pain to stop his hands working his club. The club which, like all in the Clan, he had made from the tree in which he had been raised.

The weapon had never failed him yet, and it did not this time either. The strike impacted a neckpiece of blue, and the pendant hidden beneath it broke into pieces from a precise tap, and right on cue Fenril broke into convulsions indicating the destruction of the charm.

"Nice shot, bird-man", he heard Slust comment brightly once his head stopped ringing and he fell to the ground, beyond any kind of second wind without the aid of a healer. "I couldn't get the stupid chain off- her collar was in the way, she had it inside the armor. Sorry Fenny, but that kind of fashion didn't suit you at all."

"Slust?", the woman asked uneasily once she'd recovered enough to make complete words again. All around her were rebels with varying degrees of injuries. Canopus was pleased to see at least two thirds of the assault force had made it here. "What is... going on? Who _are_ these people? What are they doing here?"

"They came here to save you from the charm that controlled you, sister", he gestured around at some of the more iconic faces, though surely she would not recognize any of them. "These are the Zenobian Liberation army. But they came up here, and laid it all on the line to free us both. So spare 'em a little gratitude, eh?"

It was not long before the angel woman regained her full wits, and along with it a foreboding stare that made Slust back off. "It is not a question of gratitude", Fenril said poisonously. "These are humans. They should not be here. Worse, I can see half-"

"Bird-men", Canopus cut in, facing the stare he earned head on. "We are the Hawk, the Raven, and the Eagle Clans Lady Fenril of Organa. And you and your ilk shall respect that."

Far from impressing the angel woman, she dismissed the firm statement as though it was a child's babbling, turning back to Slust with an accusing finger he quickly retreated before. "In any event, we must act to remove them from our homes. The longer they remain here, the more troublesome it shall be."

"I could not agree more", a new voice from somewhere above cut Slust's protest off. "Thus far. they have been extremely troublesome."

Everyone looked up, and even the Sky Knights blanched. For hovering there above their very heads was the familiar orange armor of the Sage of Light.

* * *

CASTLE VALPARIN

Warren Moon had not expected there to be much left of the fight in the time it took he, the majordomo, and a handful of guards to arrive there, and in that he was not wrong. Blood and bodies littered the hallways as they stepped in past the suddenly reluctant peasants, and Warren lit his staff to make up for a number of smashed torches along the walls.

"No survivors", one of the knights announced glumly after a thorough search. "Whoever it was who did this, esteemed Sage, they were strong and fast."

"Thank you sir Solian, for the duty of pointing out the blindingly obvious." Coming into Deneb's quarters, he checked over each item within carefully, applying various movements that must have looked to the men with him like he'd gone mad. Much of it was out of place or broken, the table where Deneb ate her meals smashed in two.

"This room has seen more damage than any other. It's clear that she wasn't well-disposed towards these guests. Nor were they trying to kill her, as I see no body identifiable as hers."

"She might have escaped, lord", the majordomo offered. "Decided if we could not protect her, she would protect herself."

He nodded. Though pompous, the orange-hued man was not nearly as much of a fool as everyone took him for. "Possible, however unlikely. If our guests were able to reach her here, traversing through this countryside hiding from everyone would not be an easy prospect even for one such as her. None of her research material was taken, not even the Glass Pumpkin."

Solian lifted the round item in question, wrinkling his nose behind his visor. "It stinks worse than anything in the basement. I cannot guess what it was for, only that the witch placed a high value on it."

Bending down upon a puddle, the Sage licked his fingers. "Blood. Yet there were no guards in Deneb's room, and no corpses. Too much blood for someone they wanted to capture. One of our guests died here."

"But they're gone, lord", Solian pointed out. "None of the bodies here are that of the enemy."

"To our chagrin", he agreed. "But I do not believe the fight was as one-sided as they would like us to think. You already have your men scouring the surrounding area?"

"Of course, lord."

"Pay special mind to the ports. Rally every man from the capital if you must, they'll not go there."

"You think they're not from here?", the majordomo asked once Solian had bowed and run off.

"I know it. There's no Order in Zenobia that forbids the leaving behind of your comrades' bodies at the scene of a battle." Hood thrown back, he studied the room for more signs. "More importantly, doing such a thing would impede their escape drastically. Which means that their dead did _not_ stay down where they fell. Some kind of magic got them up again. A magic I sense in the air now that reeks far worse than any pumpkin."

The large man gaped in disbelief. "_Necromancy_? In this day and age?"

"There are yet a handful of zealous groups that practice it, raising the fallen with black magic as opposed to 'naturally-occurring' undead such as in the Pogrom district", the Sage admitted uneasily. The scent was unmistakable to him now, lingering traces of a branch of magic that even the Empire had banned from use. "Only one, however, with the strength and influence to pull a raid such as this. The province of Antalia. Omicron's cult."

"Only with the help of a harbor master could they have gotten here unnoticed", the majordomo deduced, aghast.

"They have a handful of secret members the world over", Warren said gravely. "Like the Roshians in Imperial-controlled kingdoms, they became very good at hiding their true faith behind a mask of compliance. In Antalia however, they do not have to hide. There they are free to practice all manner of atrocity, for Omicron always makes sure there are plenty of fresh bodies taken from other nations."

Interestingly, the majordomo looked quite concerned for someone he had nothing but dislike for upon hearing that last bit. "Even she does not deserve such a fate. Why does the Empire not step in and do something about them? They have the power."

"Perhaps Rashidi has convinced the Empress not to", Warren mused. "And they are lacking in the Roshian healing magic which is the undead's greatest weakness. I am aware that General Previa's 10th legion is normally stationed there to keep them locked in and prevent too many abductions from surrounding towns." Remembering the current situation, he shook his head in pity. "In engaging one evil enemy, we may have allowed a far more vile one to grow in strength. Yet I no longer hold any power within the rebellion. The decision shall be up to them."

Stymied, the man looked out the window as if expecting to see a hooded Necromancer creeping through the undergrowth. "We shall check every corner for them, lord."

"No doubt", the Sage agreed. "But this was a well-coordinated attack. Likely they've arranged a quick escape route with their co-conspirators. With efficiency and luck, they could be out to sea already."

"...Stang."

"Indeed. Go then. Organize a search the best you can, but do not despair if you cannot find anything. There was nothing you could have done that would have changed the outcome."

Satisfied with that balm for now, the majordomo departed as well. Leaving one remaining in the ruined chamber.

Then, two. "It's time", Warren told the shadow. "The situation has grown out of control. We need our Destin back. You must guide him- you know him better than anyone."

Silence from the shadow. "You've seen Antalia. You know what is there, and why it must be stopped. I cannot go with you- my face is too well known, and Omicron's former master was the Sage of Earth."

Acquiescing, the shadow departed with a flicker. It was all Warren Moon could do with powers limited as his, and for a moment he desperately wished for the means to make everything right again with a wave of the hand.

But then he remembered that it was such naked desire for power which had created the current situation, and thought better of it.

* * *

SKY ISLE ORGANA

"I am oft to blame in this", Rashidi Light confessed to the rebels gathered before him, the dragon-maw gauntlets of his armor spread wide. "First Destiny's Child, now I am to underestimate the resolve of those under him as well. I should have used full force from the start, hammering you with every legion."

"Next time, mayhap", Gilbert Oblion replied acidly. All around the citadel clearing, he could feel his anger mirrored by every single rebel warrior who had come with them to Organa. Anger enough to make them forget how powerful this opponent was.

The scene was a surreal one, even by the lofty standards of the Sky Islands. Muspelm had settled itself a vertical mile above Organa after they'd shut down the Chock, becoming a sky of exposed rock that slowly moved past overhead. All around him, the others struggling to regain their full strength after the ferocious duel with Fenril, trying to present a united front for whatever it was worth. And the Sage in his blue cape and extravagant orange armor hovering over them, motionless in the sky without mount or wing to support him.

"The traitor governor, accessory to the Empire", he observed, floating over to study each of the division leaders facing him in turn with clasped hands and more curiosity than malice, starting with Gilbert and Canopus. "...And his good friend, the Wind Rider. Enjoying your time up here, are you?" Ashe. "...Our old sparring mate and scapegoat. Surprised you're still alive, really." Tomas Neralai. "...Governor Sirius' offspring, correct?"

"Are you quite done?", came Saradin's dry voice from the other side of the vale. "We didn't come here to let you ridicule us, 'master'."

"And our old pupil the Truthsayer, _Veulgr_", Rashidi continued appraisingly, turning to him. "I knew _Eofohs_' curse could not hold you forever, that you would have a back door hidden away somewhere. It's so like you."

"Enough. You are too late to stop us."

"Quite right, my student." At once, the charming smile slid into a bitter glare at the mob of angry fighters facing him down. The shining eyes showed naught but wrath. "You rebels have all done _very_ well in disrupting all of my plans. Congratulate yourselves most heartily, for it is the_ last _thing that you shall ever do in this life."

"I sense a lie", Saradin shot back easily, preparing a cloud of acid to launch.

"I as well", another voice called to Alore's left. Fenril of Ice drawing her elegant sword into a battle stance, and Slust doing the same beside her. "This is no foregone conclusion, Sage. You might have bested us alone, but together alongside these mortals? Already I can sense that your power is not yet replenished from your recent activities here in the heavens."

And indeed for a moment Rashidi seemed to deflate, his orange-branded arms lowered, gliding down to a gentle stop in the exact middle of the ring of opponents eager for his blood. "Temper, temper", he murmured to himself.

"Much as I'd like to disprove that theory Lady Fenril, there's no point in taking the risk. You may be safe up here, but you shall never defeat Hikash's army, nor reach the other Sky Islands. In just a few weeks, all of your conquests shall be retaken from you, and Zenobia shall _burn_ for its disgusting insolence. All because Destiny's Child abandoned you. How very nice of him."

"You shall not speak his name with your vile tongue!", Ashe drew his dusty blade now, speaking up for the first time with a vehemence that surprised many. "Nor shall you be allowed to leave us so simply. Now, when you are not protected by vast armies of Highlanders."

_Then_ Saradin noticed it, the way the sunlight was beginning to bend towards their foe, coalescing in his gauntlets and augmented by what seemed to be every possible color at once, all meshed together into a psychedelic blend. Rainbow light. Magic of a type they had never witnessed before.

The light continued to bend towards him until everyone noticed, leaving the surrounding area in a gray gloom.

"Poor old captain Ashe. Still thinking in terms of numbers", the mad Sage observed, raising both his arms and the rainbow light they held. "Whatever threat the Sky Knights might pose to me... the rest of you... are just walking collections of weaknesses."

Ashe growled, his sword glimmering in the sunlight as if remembering the kills it had scored a lifetime ago.

The rebels charged as one.

And the gathered rainbow light was released.

Dream-like, impossible to fully comprehend, it could best be described as a circular shock wave, expanding outward at a level height but thick enough so that it did not matter.

Everywhere that this rainbow light touched, a rebel would be launched several feet upwards and away before landing_ hard_ on the ground, unconscious. Beaten. Only Saradin was far back enough to see it coming, and only he possessed the knowledge to form a spherical shield of magic that shattered almost immediately, but protected him from the brunt of it.

"_Dormee."_

Nothing could protect him from this second spell, and he quickly found himself on his knees. His former master did not gloat, businesslike as he stalked over to a knot of fallen rebels. "Prudence, darling... It is time."

Barely standing, Saradin could tell the words might have provoked much more than a few scattered grunts of anger had their entire force not been incapacitated. A young Zenobian woman, a warrior who bore the scars of every battle they'd gone through, suddenly stood as though the weight had been lifted from her. Ignoring the rising catcalls, she timidly walked over to the Sage, discarding her weapon.

"She's been very useful to me", Rashidi claimed simply. "And while you're all stewing impotently on the ground, consider this; she is not my only spy amongst your ranks." Ignoring the reaction he marched on over to where Alore lay, at once looking sad.

"Disappointing. Destin has accomplished nothing. Still nothing but pitiful weaknesses, all of you... I shall take this one as payment for all that you have cost me."

He pressed his left arm to the angel boy's shaven head, lifting him up for all who lingered to see with an annoyingly friendly smile for everyone. Prudence gasped. The rainbow light flared-

"Those who fear the Dark, have never truly seen what the Light can do..."

And Alore was gone. A handful of dust falling to the ground, charred completely black by the fire. But that was all Saradin saw of him before two flashing swords drew his attention. Both the Sky Knights had only been thrown back by the massive wave, not beaten. Now they attacked in tandem with a ferocity he'd never seen in all his years, not giving the Sage time to launch another such attack. After a minute of this, the Sage grunted in exasperation, grabbed his informant and soared upwards out of the clearing until even they could not reach him.

"And _stay out_, you bastard!", Slust shouted to the sky.

* * *

SKY ISLE SHIGULD

Emily 'Prudence' Cashel had felt the worm of treachery growing in her heart for half a year.

It had started with Blaine Diwrnach. Certainly she knew her leader had a great number of flaws, foremost among them a thirst for blood that even those not of Roshian found difficult to stomach. And though it could be argued that he was merely a man of the world as he claimed to be, the majority of the rebels disliked and mistrusted him.

But then Destin Faroda had gone and killed him. Killed him without even a trial. Killed him on nothing more than suspicion of deceit. After that, no about of hushed talk about their leader's rapport with the Gods could change the way she felt about him. Destin would die for his betrayal. Nothing else would satisfy her. The old blocks were gone, so much the better.

For weeks and weeks had she waited, acting cowed and innocent like the rest of Blaine's division, hiding her hate just as Blaine had taught. And in these weeks, she had born witness to Destiny's child facing brutally powerful enemies one by one, until reports of general Figaro's demise had slid her into despair. How could she, a mere novice assassin with less than a year's training, possibly succeed where such mighty warriors had failed?

Until Balmorra, Destin had been like a rock. His tactics in warfare were unmatched, his ability to inspire admiration in the people only barely curtailed by the Order of Roshian. Any who might have questioned him became too afraid to as he grew to rely on the power of the Dark more and more.

Then... A light in the darkness. Rashidi had appeared during the long march to Balmorra, placing her nearby comrades to sleep with a spell so that he might make his offer in peace.

"Revenge is a powerful motivator", the Sage had told her earnestly, without hint of betrayal. Like Blaine used to. "It can raise nations... or reduce them to dust. I felt it echoing within your heart, even from here."

Blaine had not raised her to be a fool. She knew full well how Rashidi was playing her, thinking her an innocent in the crossfire of the rebellion who would throw away all else for a chance to kill her commander's murderer.

Unfortunately, in that he was mostly correct. So she had waited, not giving her benefactor any particularly useful knowledge, until it had been made clear that her target was no longer there. And so neither was the reason to continue pretending to be the nervous waif she'd once been.

"Where is Destin?", she asked firmly once he had flown her to a stable bit of rock, fighting both vertigo and the growing fear of Rashidi. "You know where he is?"

"Ah, no luck on that part my dear", the Sage admitted. "Fret not dear Prudence. I can certainly find you other ways to make yourself useful."

"There's exactly one way I wish to make myself useful", she shot back.

"Then I cannot help you. Destin has disappeared from my sight for the time being. Though... he might return faster if he knew his friends were in danger."

The transparency of the ploy was insulting. Did she really look that gullible still, after putting arrows into the hearts of a dozen Imperial soldiers? "If you wanted that you would've done it back there. So why didn't you?"

Rashidi gave his spy a self-assured shrug, wrenching his arms free of the cramps his armor occasionally caused. "Clever lass. The performance went perfectly; I doubt any of them shall suspect anything for a few days yet. Hopefully, that shall be enough."

"You didn't kill any of them on purpose", she said, now in genuine confusion. "That couldn't be just...?"

"Oh no", he chuckled as if sharing a joke with an old friend. "That whole show was to stop the Sky Knights from thinking too much about the reason why I _really_ invaded the heavens."

"The reason you won't share with anyone", she noted resignedly.

"Quite so. Though I do think a triple-agent would be beyond the cunning of most of the rebel leaders, I have not lived this long by taking foolish risks, my dear. You'll have to do me a few further services before I can trust you with_ that_ knowledge."

Reminded of the way the doll mage had found her crying at that Roshian temple so long ago, she gave him a fish eye. "I want the fatal shot on Destin Faroda whenever he comes back. That is all. I did not do this because I like you, traitor."

The Sage threw up his hands, deciding not to comment on the irony. "Prince Gares is first in line. After that, you may have all the shots you want. Until then, we have more pressing matters to attend to..."

Half a world away, Lans Hamilton opened his eyes.

* * *

SKY ISLE ORGANA

The next day, the rebellion leaders, along with the Sky Knights and their close followers, reconvened in the meeting room at Organa citadel. Most had spent much of their time helping to repair the great damages the recent battles had inflicted on the two islands, but few allowed such depressing work to mar their desire to organize and _do_ something, not merely witnessing death and despair.

"No jokes this time", Valerin Ashe began courteously from the head of the table. "Though I agree with lord Saradin that we can allow individual divisions more autonomy for the time being, it is still advisable to choose an overall commander, if only for them to decide our next course of action. Once again, I abstain myself from this decision. I shall abide whomever is chosen, but it shan't be me."

Slust looked like he was about to say something, but a death glare from Fenril kept him silent. "Rauny", Ara Kestler spoke up, no doubt acting on behalf of most of their Zetegineans. "You've all seen her skills by now. Her father taught her well. You all know that she's seen as many years of warfare as I, and I can swear wholeheartedly she will never betray us."

"She betrayed her own people", Tomas Neralai pointed out, ignoring the way the Overlord's daughter bristled. Obviously she knew enough Zenobian to know what they spoke of now.

"Because they dishonored her outfit", Norn Dias defended the silent princess. "If the time arrives when this army has become as brutal and deceitful as the Empire then yes, she might change her mind. But when and if that time comes, she'll not be the only one to desert. I cast my vote for the Lady Vinzalf as well."

"What it all comes down to", Gilbert Oblion mused over his cob pipe from the other end of the table, "is how much of an allowance we must make for the popular opinion of those under us, both the soldiers and the people we fight to defend. That is the only reason I can think of not to cast mine in with her. We are no longer under the protection of Destiny's Child. So I must ask; what do you all think? _Are_ the people willing to forget their grudge against Highlanders?"

"Now is the time for them to start", Saradin Carm spoke up, his special senses detecting no lies thus far. Each of these division leaders believed in what they had just said wholeheartedly.

"Like my former master I am Zenobian-born. Most of the big name wizards are. But I know that it was not _Rauncorintha_ who chose to execute our king, overthrow our government, or stamp out our religion. When the war broke out she was but nine years old, scarcely more than a child."

"You have always been a compassionate teacher", Tsuno Balakai protested. "But twenty-four summers- sorry, twenty-five now- is a great deal of time for such wounds to fester. Already I forsee that we shall have additional desertions if Rauny is made opinion leader."

The Sky Knights remained quiet throughout, clearly considering the debate none of their concern. Likewise, Galnam Lyon and Canopus Walf sat without a word to offer, the former perhaps reconsidered how suitable he was to be a commander of men. The latter had absolutely refused any attempt to make him leader no matter what Gilbert said.

"So it is", Ashe finished, nodding at each of them in turn. "We accept the consequences and continue onwards. All in favor?"

Six ayes. More than enough, and though sir Neralai looked irked by the result the others paid the werewolf no mind. "And I volunteer miss Norn to translate, since Ara's people will often be out in the field and unable to reach her", Ashe continued. "Do you accept?"

The long-nosed monk nodded. Though he had been one of the six, Saradin Carm could not help reflect on the irony of it. For over a year the rebellion had fought tooth and nail against Highlander aggression, and now a pair of foreign women- a gorgeous Highlander and the daughter of a Malanian- held the rebels' fate in their hands closer than any other leader. He could already hear the muttered curses that would pass among the rank-and-file, the mean-spirited jokes comparing Rauny to Empress Endora. 'The Black Princess' instead of 'The Black Queen'.

It would have to do. There _was_ no perfect option here. As he'd seen so many times, those most suitable to hold power remained recalcitrant to force their way. And a former pupil of Rashidi leading would be viewed even more poorly than a Highlander.

"Then, my lady Vinzalf", the old knight finished in respectful tones Saradin knew were not false. "What is your command?"

Rauny was quick to dispel the notion that she didn't grasp the current situation. With Norn translating, she commanded that a world map be brought out, along with messengers sent to any remaining rebel presence on the ground.

"As the Truthsayer said, we've been hit hard", Norn spoke for the princess over rapid-fire Zeteginean. "The Sky Islands have become our sole refuge from the enemy. Yet even without our presence, the Empire will not move against the provinces we have liberated, nor prepare a naval attack on Zenobia. Not until the wedding is over."

Lyon laughed out loud, surveying the distance between Balmorra and the capital of Malano where the bulk of the Empire's armies not at Fort Allamoot were still gathered. "The wedding that's never going to take place without you, pretty? Oh. Oh, I _like_ this. If Baron Apros is really that dumb, we can take our time, pick our targets from above."

Rauny smiled while Norn reflected her amusement. "He is. But my father may not be so complacent. I would guess within the next week or so, he shall order forces to be sent against our lands in Malano. _That_ is when we shall make our move." Her slender hand came down hard on the spot where the capital was. "We wait for them to leave, then pounce from on high. The Sky Islands are an excellent advantage that we must use if we're to have any chance of victory. We kill Apros, we take the capital and we gain legal authority over the entire country."

"And we find Prince Tristan", Ashe wheezed. "That I would ever live to see this day..."

"Agreed", spoke Saradin. "Though we must remain on the watch for enemy fliers or the return of Rashidi, for now waiting and retraining is our best bet. Any suggestions to that effect?"

Rauny's eyes shifted to the two Sky Knights. "Sir Slust and Lady Fenril", Norn spoke respectfully. "Though we have already intruded upon your beautiful homes more than we might have wished, you must see that your help may decide whether Rashidi Light falls or triumphs. I must humbly ask that you share your vast knowledge with us. Help us train this army into a fighting force capable of defeating the mad Sage and the Empire, for as we have seen demonstrated just recently, we still cannot measure up to either in power."

Fenril then showed them all how she had earned her title with a frosty glare than even made Rauny back off. "It is blasphemy. The Gods decreed long ago than no human may set foot in the heavens. Though I shall help you bring Rashidi to justice, I cannot allow Organa to be used as some kind of... some kind of... massive flying garrison. You rebels have done enough damage already."

Beside her, Slust stood, looking apologetic already. "Sorry Fenny. I've always gone with my heart. You're all welcome on Muspelm until you're ready to return to Earth and kick some butt. I'll train you all the best I can, and when we're done, we'll have that jerk running scared. I guarantee it."

"You betray your makers", Fenril remarked, standing as well. "They shall not look upon this transgression kindly, Slust."

The red knight shrugged. "Let 'em. If there's a punishment, I'll take it. We owe these people big, Fenny. Without them, Rashidi and the Empire would've turned our homes into... like you said, a bunch of flying garrisons. Don't forget, they still have Fogel under their control."

This seemed to blunt her attack for now. "I am aware of that, sir Slust. And though I may damn myself by doing so, I shall lend my assistance to tracking down our friend and releasing him from Rashidi's charm as well. Isle Shiguld _cannot_ be allowed to remain in enemy hands. We must find the Chaos Gate, and retake the island from whatever forces they have let linger there."

_It's like Lans_, Gilbert couldn't help noticing as the female Sky Knight continued her tirade. _It's like a female Lans, always completely disciplined and rigid even amongst allies, afraid to relax half an inch. They'd get along swimmingly._

"We are sorry about Alore", Rauny said apologetically through Norn. "There was nothing we could do. We seek to change that."

"We will", Ashe nodded, affirming his own faith in their new leadership. Then he saw a citadel window and frowned. "Gran's bones, is it that late already? Feels like we just got started!"

Everyone looked, and were slowly drawn from the business at hand to a sight they had never beheld before. Certainly, they had all seen hundreds of nights lit by the stars above. But never before had they dwelled on an island cruising among them, so close as to be unearthly clear to all who beheld them.

The spread of cosmic lights seemed different, now. Brighter.

They shone with hope.

The rebels would bide their time. Discovering the Chaos Gates and the Sky Islands they connected to had been a boon overall, and so the rebellion could wait and live for their time of glory to come, whether it would be a day, a week, a month... The time when they would emerge from this sanctuary and meet the Empire on equal footing at long last.

* * *

A/N: Loooong chapter, but it had to be to get two Sky Islands in at once. It might feel like I'm piling mysteries on mysteries here but trust me, it will all get resolved by the end.

In the meantime, I'd like to get an earful of particular favorites to put into greater focus like I'm doing with Rauny. Favorite character? Favorite chapter? Favorite line? Most despicable villain (hopefully by now there's a lot of candidates for that honor, not just Rashidi)? I'll be watching for more reviews.


	20. Imprisonment

Disc: The verses of the poem recited by certain characters in this chapter are, as far as I can tell, untitled. But they were written by the brilliant Mr. Matthew Stover, one of my chief inspirations in writing. All due credit to him.

* * *

**Imprisonment**

* * *

**Tarot XVIII - Moon**

_Following the star in the sky the Fool travels through the dark of the night. The full Moon rises, illuminating for him a watery path through the fog. He begins to feel disoriented, as if walking in his sleep. He passes under the moon, between two pillars ancient and strange. Suddenly, he looks around to find himself in another land entirely. When he was in the presence of the High Priestess, he saw hints of this dark land through the sheer veil draped behind her throne. And later, when he hung from the tree, he felt himself between the physical world and this one. _

_Now, he has at last passed behind the veil. Here are the mysteries he sought, at least, here are the dark mysteries, ones that have to do with the most primal and ancient powers; powers of nature, not of civilization. It is a land poets, artists, musicians and madmen know well, a terrifying, alluring place, with very different rules. Wolves, howling in homage to the moon, run wild across this land, hunting along side maidens with bow and arrows; and creatures from childhood nightmares and fantasies peer from shadows, eyes glowing. _

_The path the Fool was walking is now a river, and he stands hip-deep in the powerful pull of its salty, moonlit waters. There is, on the nearby shore, a small boat, but it has no rudder, no oar. The Fool realizes he has only two choices. He can lose himself in this desolate, primal land of madness and illusion, howl with the wolves, be hunted down, or he can get into the boat, and trust himself to the river. The moon will be in control either way, but in the boat, his surrender to the powers of the unconscious and the natural world will at least take him somewhere. _

_As the artists and poets and magicians know, inspiration, visions, genius, Moon magic, are the rewards of such surrender. The Fool gets into the boat, and shoves off. As the waters sweep him away, moon beams light his "path" and he feels the Mistress of this dark land gazing down at him with the High Priestess's approving eyes._

* * *

FORTRESS ALLAMOOT, DENEUVE-MALANO BORDER

Contrary to popular belief, Deva-General Cale Previa did _not_ make jokes at the expense of others out of spite. He believed everyone required ways to work off the stress of a lifetime of warfare, and so this was his chosen mechanism.

Babysitting the rogue province of Antalia inevitably resulted in a great deal of said stress. And since none of the guards on standby among the Empire's mightiest fortress had a sense of humor, he was now reduced to simple sword practice on the massive structure's roof, from where he could see where the region's eastern archipelago was joined with an endless stretch of baked desert to the west, with Allamoot's seemingly endless succession of fortified walls and gates being the link dividing them.

Unexpectedly, his sword struck another. For a moment he thrilled to the idea that one of Allamoot's guards might give him a more interesting practice session, but then saw General Luvalon's cold brown-skinned face staring back at him.

"Wouldn't that be convenient for the rebellion", the 3rd Deva remarked after a beat. "The 2 survivors take each other out fighting over beer?"

"They're not there", Luvalon snarled, relaxing an inch. "We combed every inch of the valley and they're _not there. _WHY aren't they there?_"_

"Easy Tanaburs", Previa recalitrated, sheathing his special blade. "I'm not the guy you're mad at. Though it is nice to see you can actually show emotions. Actually, damn it... I had 300 Goth on you being one of that creep Albeleo's creations in disguise."

As usual, his fellow Deva did not laugh or even crack a smile at any of this. "Baron Apros has forbidden further military expenditures into the areas of Malano seized by the rebellion, until either the wedding occurs or he is refunded for it."

Previa whistled. No wonder Luvalon was so angry. "Which is what, five, ten million? He should've asked for a pink unicorn while he's at it. Damned idiot thinks this world revolves around him."

The empathy had calmed his fellow Deva a tad at least. He no longer looked like he was about to start eating bricks off the sandy ramparts. "Sadly for our purposes, it does seem to be that way. The _haaswein_ is the lord of Malano with the merchant lord's council gone. Without his goodwill, we lose the funding that allows our armies to maintain their supply chains and size at their current rate. We're stretched too thin as it is, trying to fight off the rebellion, guard the capital, this place, and Antalia all at once."

"Easier to deal with one of him than ten", Previa reasoned, staring out at the archipelago and wondering if he could spot any pirates from there. "I'll trade any time you want. You know what I've seen and done, but Antalia's starting to creep _me_ out."

"Had our orders not stated differently, I would gladly take you up on that, general."

His rolled his eyes. "Right, forgot who I was talking to. As for your predicament... Have you considered requesting additional support?"

The idea was met with the shock it deserved, but Luvalon did look thoughtful. "The 9th legion. _My_ legion. They're not assigned to guard duty. Not constrained by the Baron. All we do is find signs of rebel occupation, and the war measures act can be invoked once more. We can take them all, crush our main foes."

"And maybe even find his bride-to-be", Previa noted pleasingly. "I say go for it. After asking master Hikash's permission of course."

"Of course." Most unexpectedly, the Denuevian man's blade shot out again, settling itself against Previa's slender throat before he could react. "There _is _one other matter of consideration I wished to discuss, friend Cale."

"Feel...ugh... free...", he managed to grunt against the stifling pressure. At least Luvalon would never doubt or betray his cause like Debonair, so he knew what this had to be about.

"Though I have been forbidden from sending proper military units in to retake the provinces, I was not disbarred from sending scouts. I did a little investigating, asked a few people from the 10th... You ordered the destruction of the mining town of Belgen, did you not?"

Tensing and hesitating as he did only made the larger man press his sword tighter. "The place was in ruins when we found it. No survivors. And a rebel flag among the wreckage."

"S-so what? That just means-"

"A transparent attempt to tarnish the reputation of men who have, despite the wrongness of their cause, conducted themselves with valor." Luvalon's icy voice became tinged with disgust. "Aside from Figaro, your army, the 10th legion, was the closest to Kalbi at the time of the battle."

He dared not let fear overtake him. He was Deva, and all that title implied. He had sworn his life to the Goddess long ago, rather it was the swiftness with which the normally taciturn Luvalon had cut to the heart of the matter that stunned him.

A silence which the man took as a confession. "You have _always_ despised general Figaro, and the feelings were mutual. But never did I dream you would go so far to disgrace him. It may well have been your interference that caused his defeat. What say you to that?"

"I realize you're upset about Apros", he gasped. "But to go around accusing your brethren of such crimes..."

"You deny it?" The sword withdrew, but Luvalon continued to stare holes through him. "_Who_, then? Which wizard began the blaze?"

"I don't know, damn it!", he yelled. "I can't know. Mayhap Figaro did it, some kind of 'scorch-and-thwart' policy. You know he always loved running his own show, free from the considerations of others."

"Indeed. But that is no reason to sabotage him. I shall find who it was that did this, Previa. And if it turns out to be you after all, Master Hikash shall be the first one that I inform."

Once again he struggled to find a joke, but then considered that for the first time, Luvalon was angry enough that a jest might actually push him over the edge into genuine violence. With only the two of them remaining, the Empire yet needed all the strong leaders they could get, and none of them trusted Sage Rashidi to fill in, particularly after they had learned that the Sky Knights would not leave their homes even while enthralled by magic.

_He doesn't care_, Previa reminded himself angrily. _He doesn't give a damn about us. _To Rashidi, the 12 legions of the Empire were but mere pawns. Like the late general Figaro, the Sage pursued his own agenda, and a more complex one than any of them could guess at. Something involving the old legends of Zenobia, to the exclusion of all security or tactical wisdom. Even now, he worked to keep the locations of the Sky Islands secret enough so that only the 7th legion knew which cloud bank to look in. _And so are we barred from communication with the isles, relying instead on the Sage to keep us up to date._

"Go ahead", he remarked at last. "But make sure you take a long, hard look at our Zenobian friend while you're at it."

* * *

BORDERS OF ANTALIA

At some point beyond reckoning or memory, Lans Hamilton had found himself walking a dusty road at dawn.

He could not figure how it was he had come to be there, nor how it was that he continued to exist after all the recent memories pointed to the fact that he should have been gone, whisked off by the Thirteenth into the Gods' waiting arms for judgement. Like a newborn fresh from the womb, he had simply woken up from a long slumber, many miles from the Valley of Kastro, and began to put one foot in front of the other until a direction presented itself.

A destination was enough for now.

The fancy pearl armor Zalas had given him was thoroughly trashed, but he found that with a little 'trimming' and the help of a forge the suit was returned to a slimmer, more functional form with only a handful of obvious dents. It still retained much of the magic he had felt during the battle where he thought he had died. It had not helped him there, but only a fool would turn down the obvious way it bolstered his strength, gave his cuts extra bite and swiftness enough to master any of the local wildlife.

Antalia, then. Something he could not place had called him there, and even he could deduce that it had something to do with how he'd come back from the dead without so much as a scratch. As he had feared upon hearing news of the province's predicament, much of the fertile fields had decayed since last he had visited, transformed into spreads of uniformly gray dirt, graveyards or swamps like those in Balmorra. Even from the edge of the land he could sense the malaise in the air, a ephemeral sort of decay that made his hair stand on end. He would be a flower amongst weeds even without the armor making him look like some kind of legendary hero.

So he did not bother with secrecy when his meandering brought him to the border pass, a rotten-looking bridge barricaded by a simple palisade. Whether Imperial or not, the guards would know he didn't belong. Two young-looking soldiers came out to meet him and he cut them down before either could react with anything more than a tilt of their shields.

The town of Kelluman beyond looked little better. Brackishly-coloured skeletons of the same kind he'd seen in Balmorra stalked the stoneless streets, accompanied by similarly-toned versions of grinning ghosts. Amazingly he did see signs that people yet lived here, and the undead did not actively attack them. Either as a form of obedience to their governor or a perverse love of necromancy's trappings, everyone he saw wore some form of black-hooded robe. Even the children who were clearly afraid of the abominations that walked their streets.

"Interesting", a chirrupy voice came from an alley, preluding an older man with extremely narrow fingers who looked much more at home in such a place. "A sellsword, mayhap? With that gaudy armor one might mistake you for a Paladin."

He cursed. He'd been so entranced by the grotesque sights around him that he'd completely forgotten how his shining armor made him stick out. "...Yes. Word is there's a cash reward for anyone willing to protect Omicron's interests here."

"That's LORD Omicron, mercenary", the necromancer corrected him, leading him down the main road together so that no one else would approach Lans as an oddity. "That fool Previa has been cracking down on our ventures as of late. I am glad to see he was correct in his assumption- even those without the strength of mind to partake in our regular business would not be averse to some direct combat. Particularly against the Empire's lapdogs."

Grateful that the bluff had worked, Lans gave an emphatic nod. He certainly would not have to pretend to be disgusted by the man's 'regular business' nor eager to inflict some damage on the Empire. "Though your branch of magic is repulsive to me, I can understand a good business opportunity when I see one. And I've my own grudge against them, so in this way are we all benefited by our association."

To his surprise, the necromancer smiled wide, revealing rotted yellow and black teeth that clashed with his melodious voice. "It shall be nice to have someone else on the same educational level for a change. Most of the fodder here don't comprehend the subtleties very well. Not like we need them to be smart, but alas... it becomes tiresome sometimes. Welcome to Antalia, Mr...?"

"Alphonse", he said, his thoughts still muddled and sick. "Alphonse Tartare. A loyal son of Zenobia."

"More intriguing still." Coming upon a larger gathering in the town square, he motioned for Lans to stop. "A moment, mister Alphonse. I would not wish our craft to turn you off Lord Omicron's offer. If you wish to avert your eyes, I'll understand. T'is not for the squeamish."

But curiosity had already made him look into the scene revealed by the cluster of torches in the square. Three other hooded figures had strung up a man and woman on an engraved block of wood with knotted rope. Raising identical ceremonial daggers, they had already begun to chant an incantation together which, to Lans, sounded most unwholesome from the start:

_Fe gutaraa ghe vol_

_Fe gutaraas va dolan_

_Fe guataraas ya sha'he_

_Oneah'ku caleen, cthu'malas_

Seeing Lans' host, they stopped. It was clear who was really in charge of this revolting 'ceremony', and the slender-fingered necromancer raised his staff among the cries of the two victims. As invited, Lans averted his eyes, but even that did not shut out the noise, nor the war that had already started within his own head.

"The Dark is generous", the head necromancer began in a throaty tone. "Its first gift is concealment. Our true faces lie in the dark beneath our skin, our true hearts remain shadowed deeper still."

_You must stop this. They are going to sacrifice these two people._

"But the greatest concealment... lies not in protecting our secret truths, but in hiding from us the truths of others."

_You are a knight of Zenobia. You protect the innocent._

"The dark protects us from what we dare not know."

_It is only fear that stops you. Fear of death?_

No. Laura was dead, Destin gone. He had left fear of his own death behind upon joining the guard. How could he have forgotten that? His thoughts truly had become muddled. At any rate, he had already died once. What was a second time?

_Fe rvikus'ia_

_Fe avikos'ua ya_

_Fe em'retaas_

_Molockus nazal kha_

He charged. The three apprentices had their knives upraised, leaving them easy targets as he charged with a speed that felt like gliding. He took one on Granbane, bisecting him with a single swipe before moving on to cut the arms off the second. The third charged at him gibbering frantically, but he held no combat training whatsoever and was easily cut down.

His host did not look amused. "Was that truly necessary, Alphonse? I _told_ you not to look. The whole _point_ of this ceremony was to help those three learn the basic raising spells for a sacrifice to our Lord God. Your weak stomach has ruined three perfectly good acolytes."

Lans did not pay him any mind. He cut mechanically at each bond until all were gone, and clearly the man was not so far gone as believed for he immediately grabbed his girlfriend and ran off. Sure enough, the undead began popping up around the area, but none of them moved to stop the two.

Instead, they surrounded Lans. "Come now", the necromancer offered with one withered-looking arm. "Mayhap I can convince Lord Omicron to arrange some kind of exchange for them. Perhaps another few bodies to add to these three? We're not particular."

"I'm afraid I have mislead you, sorcerer", he confessed grimly. "I am not the man I said I was. I am Lans Hamilton, guard captain of Zenobia. And I am here for my friend, not for your money."

"Doesn't ring a bell", the necromancer admitted. "And if your friend has come here willingly... whatever makes you think that he would wish to leave?"

"My friend is _not_ one of you", Lans said plainly, trying to hide his sudden flinch at the idea.

"Then he is fodder, to be raised as one of the undead". The hooded man spread both arms, fingers encompassing the town as a handful of skeletons closed in and began to attack with rusted swords. "That is how things work here in Antalia, my friend. Either you get with the program and worship the Imprisoned One, or you are fodder for our great work. There's not a single soul in this province that is not one or the other. Are you truly intent on taking on an entire nation to find your friend?"

Lans did not speak. The way Granbane effortlessly diced up three more skeletons was answer enough. Following that, he focused the armor's magic into a wave of healing, erasing the handful of scrapes he'd taken as well as banishing a ghost.

"A paladin after all", his observer said, stepping back as though confronted by a bad smell. "The most self-righteous hypocrites in all the world. Don't think this means anything, paladin. Your so-called 'Holy Power' may be strong here, but as I said, you are up against a _nation_. All you can accomplish before you die is to slightly inconvenience Lord Omicron."

A quick chant later he was gone in a puff of smoke. But the chant remained, hovering in the air in an impossibly long echo until the three apprentices Lans had slain rose again with blank eyes and slack jaws. Cutting them down as well, he searched and found the couple he had rescued standing on the bank, beckoning him into an alley out of the way of more patrolling undead and necromancers.

He had not missed the man's words, but he had to believe that these two, at least, would not harm him. "Thank you, sir", the man croaked once they were out of sight. "You have no idea what kind of horrors they had in store for us, their 'fodder'."

"I might possess an inkling more than you think", Lans said, looking about in disgust for prying eyes before he relaxed his guard. "You heard?"

The girl shivered. "We didn't have to, it's the same story everywhere. We're all fodder unless we join their cult and worship the Imprisoned One. Any time they want to try out some new power or train a new initiate, they take us."

"That may be the most revolting thing I have yet witnessed", the knight stated. "And I have witnessed many revolting things in my time on this Earth."

"Nae. That's not even the worst part", the young man shook his head sadly. "It's not just the initiates they try to indoctrinate. They control the schools which remain, and there's only a few things they bother to teach but they teach them well. We're_ fodder._ Our only purpose in this world is to mate and procreate more fodder, then die and become undead, etcetra etcetra."

"Even children...", Lans hissed. "I stand corrected. But why do you tarry? Why do you not leave this place?"

To his great surprise, the young man set his jaw in a firm line. "Because this was _our_ land once, sir knight. And we'll fight to regain it no matter how long it takes us."

"I can empathize. But what hope is there, truly? That man made it clear that entire nation has converted."

"Do not believe his words", the girl said with equal determination. "While much of the province has gone over, there's a handful of towns who still resist. Dauo Dahl and Banbahl in particular have managed to hold on- that's where Dirk and I are from." They clasped hands, managing to smile warmly at one another despite the grimness of their situation. "They're both to the southeast of here."

"And Kander Hall?" That was the capital of the province, or at least it had been before the takeover.

Both became sullen. "You don't want to go there, sir knight. That's Omicron's private research lab, as well as the foundation of the cult of the Imprisoned One. The very land around it decays, the very air reeks of death."

"It's where I need to go", he said simply. "My friend is there. I have to find him." Somehow, he knew it to be true. Exactly how was another question.

Dirk shook his head. "You go to your doom. You should at least meet with Yushis before then."

"Yushis?"

"The sole reason we haven't been taken over by the cult of the Imprisoned One already", the girl offered happily. "She's a real live angel. Her aura weakens and even destroys all the undead near her, and she remains in the temple in the mountains near Dauo Dahl at all times, protecting us."

"An angel", he repeated, forcing all traces of skepticism from his voice. "Very well. Lead on. I shall guard you."

* * *

A dozen banished undead later, Lans Hamilton beheld his first angel in the heart of the region's sole surviving Roshian Temple, and his reaction was much the same as his comrades. Tunic and long mane of hair the same pillowy white, the winged woman lay chained up on the large altar in the temple lobby, the halo above her heard defying all other explanation.

"Why hello there", she remarked as though there was nothing wrong about her being manacled at all four limbs. "I haven't seen you around here before. What's your story?"

"He's a_ paladin_, Yushis", Dirk said, throwing off the gloom of Kelluman in her presence, which felt to Lans like the polar opposite of Gares' aura- a positive force that restored one's confidence, made his nightmares and worries seem trivial. "Sir Lans Hamilton, a crusader from Zenobia. He says he came to locate a friend of his. And he's really, _really_ powerful!"

The angel studied Lans carefully and smiled. "You have an interesting light about you, Lans Hamilton. I can sense that your story is a deeply tragic one."

"In such an age, milady Yushis", Lans offered, bowing respectfully, "t'would be hard-pressed to mind a story which is not. For I am certain that you do not wear those shackles on your arms and legs by choice."

Yushis shrugged as if the crude bonds were no great concern of hers. "Yes... and no. I came to your world to try and find my sister, Mizal. But when I came to this place, the priests here, desperate for some way to stave off Omicron's cult, captured me. I didn't want to hurt them. They chained me up here, and I used my power to stop the undead from completely conquering them."

"T'is the shackles of duty to the people, not steel, which holds you imprisoned.", Lans recognized, thinking of Gilbert. "You wish to find your sister, but you do not wish to leave these people unprotected."

"Yes. Omicron would violate them all into clacking bone husks given the chance", Yushis remarked sadly. "Until he is beaten, his cult dissolved and his power broken in this region, I dare not let my aura drop. Thankfully, the people here recognized that and started treating me better. The only thing I still have to keep is the shackles- they don't trust me completely yet."

"At least the priests do not", Lans observed, finding it ironic that Dirk and his girlfriend Gelna were quicker to trust Yushis than these holy men around them. Thankfully, the temple had been isolated for quite some time, unable to contact Father Zalas. "What can I do, Lady Yushis? I am at your disposal."

She giggled, an oddly childish motion for one who was supposed to be a divine being. "You _are_ good, Lans Hamilton. But I don't think even you can bring down Omicron by yourself. Rather, you should tell me what it is that_ you_ are doing here in this terrible place."

"That too, is a complicated story." He removed his helmet, inclining his head. "But mayhap one such as you might be able to explain it a bit better."

Without needing to be prompted, Dirk and Gelna departed in silence. "I died", Lans began slowly. "I remember dying. Tanaburs Luvalon was simply too strong. His sword ripped me apart from top to bottom. T'was the most painful thing I have ever experienced, followed by complete numbness. All went dark. Yet, somehow... I lived on. I found myself here, only knowing that I had to find sir Destin, my friend. My brother."

Yushis looked like she was pondering this, eyes closed for a fraction before staring up at the curved ceiling's cobwebs. "You should know Lans; I'm not exactly high up in the hierarchy. I don't know all of the secrets of the great beyond. Only recently have I transformed into a Cherubim, never mind our strongest stage of growth- a Seraphim like my sister."

"But you would yet know more of this phenomenon than anyone from our world. So please, Yushis... help me."

"I think", she mused carefully, "what happened is, your attachment saved you. Do you know why it is that undead are sometimes 'naturally' created outside of Antalia? In graveyards and places like that?"

He nodded. He'd fought many such fell beings personally on missions for the crown. Those were the days... "Undead are formed from a tainted soul when one dies an unclean death, with deep regrets yet lingering in their hearts causing them anguish. Until they fulfill that regret, or else are forcibly put at peace by a Roshian healer's holy power, they cannot know true rest."

Yushis beamed. "Exactly! You're a smart one. Anyways, all of these regrets are formed by selfish motives, resulting in the soul becoming an ugly parody of their former selves. At least", she paused, "that's what _usually _happens. But you, Lans... Your very last thought before Death took you was nothing less than a desire to help your friend." The Cherubim smiled warmly, exuding calmness and peace. "It must have been very strong indeed."

Now he was even _more_ confused. "What are you saying, milady?"

She looked serene. "I'm saying you became a divine being. The exact opposite of the undead. Because _your_ lingering desire was _not_ for yourself, but for the sake of others."

"For the sake of the entire world", Lans clarified, his head spinning regardless. "Without sir Destin, all may yet be lost."

"Exactly. That singular task consumes your mind. It is all that keeps you upright. Until it is fulfilled, you become a naturally-occurring... You've become one of us. Or rather, you're in the halfway stage between."

He looked at his hands, not sure what to say to such a bizarre claim. "For... forgive my doubt, miss Yushis. I hardly _feel_ like a divine being."

"No?", she watched with obvious pride that only made him feel sicker. "Didn't you notice your increased strength and reflexes when you woke up? Your new holy power? Didn't you feel lightheaded for a really long time afterwards? Have you ever had to eat or drink since you died, or even felt the urge to? Didn't you notice how any time you try to pursue some other course of action, your mind immediately jumps back to pursuing your goal without knowing why?"

"I have no halo. I have no wings! I am not one of you!" He ranted, for he could not deny that everything Yushis said was true. He _was_ stronger and faster than he had ever been. His task could not be pushed away in his mind. He simply hadn't noticed until now. It had not been the armour that allowed the use of holy magic. It was _him_...

When your task is complete", she explained patiently, "your oath fulfilled, you shall ascend to the Sky Islands for your valour, and earn your wings."

For a long time he was still, unsure of what to think, or even to believe. "I had always lived my life in service to honour and virtue", he confessed weakly. _Why_? Why could he not cry? Was his body just no longer capable of it? "The royal guard of Zenobia became my family. My brothers, my father, my sons... A more honourable one than I had ever known before. When my one true family was sundered by base treachery, and my wife killed, I knew not what to do but carry on."

"You expected no divine reward. No reward at all was expected for this", Yushis extrapolated. She had seen such men before, though not very many. "You did not follow honour and virtue out of the desire to ascend upon death, but because you felt it was the right thing to do. _That_ is why we do not speak of the divine laws to humans. It is forbidden. If all humans knew of them, how many of them would merely act the part?"

She still could not move her arms much, but even as confused and scared as the captain was he sensed her need and moved closer, allowing two wings to enwrap him in a perenatural comfort that dulled the sting of rapid-fire realizations.

"You cannot _fake_ being a good person, Lans Hamilton", she whispered soothingly in his ears, knowing full well the panic that roiled through him and numbed his senses. "At least not in the unblinking eyes of the Gods. This is your reward for your dedication and persistence. Wear it well, for I should be honoured to call you Brother when your task is done..."

* * *

SKY ISLAND MUSPELM

"Okay guys!", Slust plunked himself down at the top of the circle of stones and looked at the rebels expectantly. About a third were present, the rest off training with each other as instructed. Looking around, Norn Dias saw Rauny, Gilbert, and Lyon as well as a number of cast-offs, remains of divisions who had been hit hard indeed by the recent battles in Balmorra and Kalbi. "Story time."

And it was Lyon who first arched his spun-gold brow and offered what they were all thinking. "You can't be serious."

"Nope. Not joking." The Sky Knight looked insufferably content, mayhap hoping his usual aura of calm would help them relax enough to do what he asked of them. "This here's my training, guys. Take it or leave it. You're not getting anywhere so long as you're dragging all that baggage around with you when you fight. So talk."

"About_ what_, exactly?" One of the older mages shrugged helplessly.

"About anything you want. It won't work if we force ya. But I'm hoping that we can get down to the cause of why most of you guys move like you're covered in tar. 'Cause the way you are now... You're not even close to pushing the limits of what a mortal warrior can do. There's way better fighters in the Empire. And I'm not just talking about the Deva or Rashidi. The 1st legion? The one chosen to guard the very heart of the Empire? Picture an army- an entire army, mind you- of Debonairs."

And he faced Norn, for once not allowing his flirtatiousness to distract him, only irritate her. "Speaking of the late 1st Deva... You first, pretty lady?"

He'd put her on the spot. That was vexing but she remembered Kaus and swore she'd make do as best she could. "Fine. I'll go."

Drawing in a breath, she took a seat on a nearby rock near Slust. "My name is Norn Dias,a daughter of Malano. I was born and raised in Diaspola, the floating prison. There I met many strange people who did not seem to be dangerous. That was the first time I began to doubt my father's words, and those of the Empire which had conquered us long ago."

Slust beckoning invitingly, waiting for her to continue no matter how silly the rest of them might find it.

"When first I met Kaus, he was not a Deva. Only a soldier, _Einherjar_ 3rd class. Like as then, he was dedicated to his duty. But he had never known love either, until then. At first he claimed an interest in the teachings of the Roshian convent where I was studying, so unlike the anarchic religion of the War Goddess Freya. But soon I came realize that the thing he kept returning for... was _me_."

Now she had Gilbert's rapt attention along with a few others. Mayhap the governor had a liking for tales about how even those strongly dedicated to their country could falter in dedication. He certainly was not the only person guilty of that.

She spread her arms wide. "_That's_ why I have to find Kaus. Not just because I love him, but because it's at least partly my fault that he wavered in his loyalty, and that the Empire did... did... whatever it is they did to him. Either way I _shall_ have the truth. Hresvelgr and Ersevinh- the Highlander names for them since they don't speak Zeteginean- would want that. That's why I'm here."

Then as one, her audience stood and politely clapped. Advancing, Gilbert put a hand to her shoulder. "Young lady. Not once would any of us believe all the Empire's citizens to be evil. That is an impossibility despite how the Zeteginean religion works. The Empire is made of _people_, like us. It is only their warriors, and more importantly those canny leaders instigating the Highlanders to conquer everything around them, that we must defeat."

"Rashidi Light and Empress Endora", Rauny provided, speaking in Zeteginean only for Norn. "My father never desired battle or conquest. Destroy the Sage of Light and the Black Queen and this war is over."

"You make it sound so easy", the monk sighed back at her friend. She had not forgotten the feeling when Rashidi's 'rainbow wave' had ripped into them. It felt like dying. "But that is why we're here, correct?"

Gilbert nodded, willingly standing as she stepped down, feeling slightly less ridiculous than before.

"Now then", the ex-governor announced. "With our generous host's permission, allow me to reveal the story of how two young men- a wastrel Hawk Clanner and a Zenobian beast tamer, beloved by the queen- dreamt of one day uniting the bird-men with human society..."

* * *

KANDER HALL, ANTALIA

Kander Hall had once been a vast library of magical knowledge. Looking at it now, one would never have guessed that it had been anything but what it was- a dismal circle of soot and mortar where necromantic rituals and the cult of the Imprisoned One held dominance. Somehow even the windows seemed darkened by the clouds hanging over it.

The marsh surrounding the outer wall might have been bad enough, the place's denizens no longer even attempting to hide the leftovers of their work and leaving the waters brimming with corpses. That alone lent the water a foul stench that Lans Hamilton found was the hardest of a multitude of things about his mission to bear.

But bear it he would, if it took him past ten thousand more bodies. Destin Faroda was here. He could feel it instinctively, the end of his task nearby. And oblivion beyond.

Yushis had not mentioned anything about not being allowed to attend to other urgent matters such as, say, eliminating the cult of the Imprisoned One whos' members thronged the stone corridors within, intent on their work or worship. However, swathed in the same dark robes as a disguise, Lans withheld his blade. The numbers were simply too great, no matter how the sights and sounds and particularly the_ smells_ here tempted him to attack.

_Fe gutaraa ghe dol_

_Fe gutaraas va dolan_

_Fe guataraas ya sha'he_

_Oneah'ku caleen, cthu'malahs!_

This desire was magnified when he came upon a number of chambers with live specimens waiting to be sacrificed, but again he forced himself to stop. The way his task dominated his soul actually helped to drown out the tormented screams of the innocent, and the way the echoing chanting of the cult's rites seemed to tug at his soul. _This is why I could never be a spy. I could not pretend... not for long anyway._

Neither had his wanderings gone unnoticed. A hooded figure had locked in on him, foregoing stealth of their own in favour of persistently following him everywhere. With nowhere further to run, he ducked behind a wall, preparing Granbane and reaching for Laura's music box, only to find the latter missing. Mayhap he could take the man in the gut without anyone seeing, for was there not already death occurring everywhere in this foul hall?

He lunged, but dropped the sword at the sight of the face beneath the hood. Pale yellow hair. Unnaturally blue eyes. A grown man's features which had not long ago housed a teenager's mind within...!

Destin Faroda grabbed and forced Lans back into his hiding spot, quickly picking up Granbane and returning it. "You are far too reckless, brother. A disturbance like that and all would be ruined."

Lans stared, still not quite believing. His oldest living friend wore the sinister ceremonial robes like an expert, as though he truly belonged there. "You...?"

But Destin shushed him. "There shall be time to listen later brother. For now, I must attend the main ceremony. They're expecting me soon."

Some of the confusion abated but not all, Lans settled for crossing himself before following Destin's lead into the wide open chamber which contained what he presumed to be the 'main ceremony' of which he spoke.

Braziers arranged about the chamber emitted the embers of burnt herbs, accompanying a central slab of rock about twice the size of a man, with every possible surface bearing arcane symbols. Positioned around the slab were seven hooded cultists with daggers, while about the same number merely waited off to the side to watch. It was Destin who joined that central circle, making it eight.

At the head of the eight there was another robe that stood out for the number of blood-red symbols etched into its hem and cuffs, even burgeoning into trails going up the sides. More obvious than that was the way the others gave him a wide berth, or the skull-topped staff in the man's hand.

He caught a flicker of torchlight and gasped. The cultist in the special robes was none other than the one from Kelluman! Giving no sign of recognizing him, the chief necromancer stepped forward, using his skull-topped staff to point the way.

"My friends", that same weirdly melodious voice rang out in the cramped chamber. "However diverse our backgrounds, we have all been united here by a common quarrel. WE who have held the strength of mind to pursue magic's most powerful branch- the power to control life and death- have always been persecuted due to the jealousy of others. Have. We. NOT?"

"AIH!", came the affirmative grunt from over a dozen throats. Lans was not expecting it, but no one noticed.

"And have we NOT found the courage to continue on, regardless of what small-minded fools think, and so surpassed the constraining laws of the tyrannous Empire and its Black Queen?"

"AIH!"

"And have we NOT been rewarded for our diligence by the Imprisoned One, or even by the fates which allowed us to reach out to HIM and HIS glory?"

"AIH! AIH!"

"YES!" The leader's eyes shone with fanatical fire. "And now it so happens that our faith is to be rewarded further still, for TONIGHT, we shall witness the DAWN of a new age for mankind!"

"AIH! AIH! _Molockus nazal kha! Jiu kanna Ore ja OMI-CRON! Jiu kannalka Ore ja GALF-GARON!_"

Trying to at least mouth the complex words the rest were chanting like seasoned veterans, Lans felt doubt begin to gnaw at his heart for the first time. For a rebel spy, Destin sounded awfully sincere about it_..._

Waiting for the chamber to quiet down again, Omicron clasped both his flowing sleeves tight before seeding the slab with some unknown powder, his voice continuing to ring through the air, mesmerizing in its power. "For TONIGHT, shall we give unto HE who is our HOPE, a mighty sacrifice! _Gi'nelen huu jiull skche! Hyn bektiu Galf! _Bring it forth... so that all shall SEE!"

And Omicron stepped aside, revealing a new arrival, one cloaked in a one-piece covering, not so much a robe as a tarpaulin of midnight black with a mask at the top. Waiting only a moment, he ripped the top portion from the 'sacrifice' to reveal the face beneath...

He gasped. Again, no one saw.

It was Deneb Rhodes. And anyone could tell from the look in her eyes that some incredibly powerful herbs were at work on her mind. The witch stepped into the circle with rigid determination and purpose, and she did not resist as four of the central figures bound her limbs to the stone with rope.

The initial shock having worn off, he was once again torn between the need to keep one's head down and the oaths of a Zenobian knight. They were already lighting the candles circling the slab, already sharpening their daggers to plunge down as one. He wished he could see his brother's face and discern some clue from it. What was it to be? Fight? Such a gathering would not even need to summon the undead he'd seen patrolling about to stop them. The leader alone was his match...

But neither could he let this come to pass. _A knight is sworn to valor..._

Closing his eyes, Lans swung. Granbane took the three closest to him in a wide arc. The surprise of the others gave him time to account for two more, but then Omicron chanted something upon his skull staff and pair of bony hands wrapped themselves around Lans' legs, leaving him immobile no matter how he thrashed against them.

Throwing back his dirty hood, the chief necromancer brightened. "Why, it's my friend the_ paladin_ again! Come to throw your life away in style, have you paladin? Mayhap _you_ might make a worthy sacrifice in your own right!"

"Hardly", another familiar voice claimed; Destin throwing back his own hood, looking angry as if daring the remaining cultists to gasp and point at him. "I know him, master. He's nothing but an ordinary sword-slinger of Zenobia. A sheep in wolf's fur. His soul is worthless to the Imprisoned One."

Lans was so stunned he nearly dropped Granbane. "WHAT? You...?"

"The Dark is generous", his brother spoke heedlessly. "Its second gift is comforting illusion. The ease of gentle dreams in night's embrace, the beauty that imagination brings to what would repel in the day's harsh light. But the greatest of its comforts is the illusion that the dark is temporary."

_This cannot..._

"That every night brings a new day." Turning, he stared Lans down with a fury which felt far, far too real to be a lie. "Because it is the _day_ that is temporary. _Day_ is the illusion."

_He speaks the words as if..._

"Well spoken, my boy", Omicron gave him a pat on the back- as though they were father and son! "You've embraced our Lord's teachings with an enthusiasm I find most admirable. Now. What shall we do with YOU, Lancelot Hamilton?"

"Kill him!", came the screaming of several of the lesser acolytes. "He is not worthy of our Lord Galf-garon! _Kill him_! Let us slay and raise his body!"

"I shall do it", Destin offered, producing his own ceremonial dagger. "Yet to sully this fine blade with the blood of a fool..."

"Your sword shall remain where it is", Omicron said flatly. Whatever his many faults, the head necromancer was not gullible. "We can always consecrate another knife. Do it."

He nodded. The dagger somehow shone with what meager slivers of light the braziers offered, new and clean and sharpened to perfection.

_No... He truly is..._

The knife stabbed deep. The entire gathering let out a gasp...

Followed by a collective screech of denial. Lans blinked. He had expected a quick end, but Destin had moved so quickly even one expecting it might not have reacted in time. The dagger had been driven into _Omicron_'s chest as he spun, quickly withdrawing and holding the boodstained edge to the necromancer's throat.

"Release her", Destin demanded. "Now."

But Omicron did not seem worried, or even weakened by the bleeding hole in his stomach. "You can't be serious, master Faroda. I'd sooner slay every man in this hall than let a sacrifice such as this escape. Even a week of faking allegiance to God should have taught you that much. A fool to the bitter end- you are surrounded."

Kander Hall _shook_. A robed messenger came running to the entrance of the chamber only to be reduced to silence at the sight that awaited him. "No", Destin replied with the same predatory calm, neither smug or jesting. "That would be YOU, Lord Omicron." Then, to the awestruck cultists: "Release her, or your master dies."

But looking around the room it became clear the assembly of robed men were yet more afraid of Omicron than they were of Destin. T_hey must not know him very well. _Instead, Lans remembered Yushis' lessons and broke the bony hands holding him, using Granbane to sever the ropes holding Deneb and slaying any who tried to stop him.

" 'Or your master dies'?" Omicron snickered upon seeing that none of his servants could stop this. "Dies? Then my curiosity demands I ask- exactly how can one die_ twice_?"

A hissing noise rang out, and Destin fell screaming to his knees, covered in droplets of acid as though he'd been splashed. Though he had cut the man's throat open, he did not seem to mind that, stepping free and levelling his skull-staff at Lans. There was no pain and he figured his armour had blocked the acid, but then the dead cultists' bodies rose in the same fashion as at Kelluman, enthralled to the necromancer's magic to block the way with their own bodies.

The fight broke out but Omicron continued on chanting, raising the rest of the bodies in the room where they lay. "The Dark's third gift is the Light itself." He raised his staff, firing off more vomit-colored acid and the clouds of shadow that they'd seen Warren use many times. "As the days are defined by the nights which divide them- just as stars are defined by the infinite black through which they wheel- the Dark embraces the Light, and brings it forth from the very center of its own self."

Five dessicated bodies fell to Granbane, and rose up again. It was a never-ending onslaught that did not abate when Destin lent his dagger to the fray.

Omicron smirked at the sight. "With each victory of the Light... it is the Dark that wins."

"Enough poetry!", the paladin snarled, finally remembering what he was. "Embrace the 'Light' then, as you would the Thirteenth!" And golden light flowed forth from Granbane, permanently banishing the 'zombies' at last.

The room was now clear, save for the necromancer, his sacrifice and the two who would prevent it. Then other people began appearing through another doorway, announced by the sounds of pitched battle beyond it, and Destin cast a glance over his shoulder. "Not too difficult I hope, Fubuki, Aisha?"

"Not really", the girl winked back as if getting into Kander Hall had been no trouble. "They might know their magic, but once the corpse corps went bye-bye it was a mop-up. This ugly guy's the head honcho then?"

"That's right." Destin raised the dagger triumphantly, pointing it at Omicron's exposed, beating heart where he had gouged him. "And undead too, or at least part of the way there."

"Glorious." Without further preamble, Aisha began to focus her ankh in the familiar way to perform a banishing.

And for the first time, Omicron showed signs of worry, dropping the facade of politeness. "I meant what I said, master Faroda", he glowered. "The witch _will _be sacrificed! Ore ja_ Galf-garon!"_

Quick, far too quick for anyone in his condition or age, he lunged at the slab, the staff stabbing down just as fiercely as any dagger. Aisha's spell struck only seconds after, but the end result was clear.

Omicron moaned only once in the encroaching light, shimmering like a heat mirage before drifting away on an invisible wind. Beneath him, Deneb convulsed.

"No", Lans heard Desitn whisper before dashing upon the sacrifical altar in the vain hope that his hands could stop the convulsions from growing worse. "No, no! Please, I beg of you!"

He was as frozen as the others. Destin's panic and grief seemed like something improper to intrude upon, and neither could he guess what exactly had been done to Omicron's knife.

"AISHA!", his friend reared up and barked. "Heal her! Now! Do something!"

The girl's actions were slow but Lans still considered her the bravest sixteen-year old he'd ever met running up to the altar like that. After several tension-filled moments alone during which black fluid began to steadily drip off the witch's frenzied body, Aisha shook her head regretfully. "I'm sorry. It's... It's too advanced a curse."

Destin grabbed and shook her until Lans actually drew his weapon out of fear for the young shaman. "NO! There must be something you can do! Anything, curse you! Purge the rite, stop the magic, SOMETHING!"

Hearing the shouts, the witch's eyes opened beneath the glaze of unconsciousness. "Des...tin?"

They were too late- as they watched, the matte black fluid pooled upon the altar, becoming a vast stain across the entire top portion. Nondescript talons of black emerged, dragging their captive into the mess just ahead of Destin's outreached hand. Moments later, the stain dissipated as well. Suddenly the chamber was very still.

Lans turned his head, shamefully afraid to look upon his brother's ashen face. Balmorra had been bad enough. What new change might _this_ development wreak in him? "Sir Destin..."

His brother wasn't looking at them, both hands continuing to scrabble across the stone, gradually slowing down to a dead stop, hanging his head as he did so.

He looked around, desperate for someone else to speak to their impromptu leader. Of course Fubuki would say nothing, standing off to the side as if waiting for permission to go help the others who were yet fighting to defeat the remaining enemy. Aisha looked too frightened to do so, so jarred now by her leader's wrath that she could barely move.

It would have to be him. Mustering his words, Lans took a deep breath...

"Sir Destin! I am so very sorry. We did all that we could. That so many of us were able to arrive here in time is a miracle." He cursed his choice of words silently, but Destin did not seem to mind. Or react at all.

"No miracle", Aisha offered, partially recovered from the shock. "When he came to us, his_ true_ friends, and talked about how Deneb was going to be sacrificed by Omicron, we all went with him. We couldn't just sit by. We were just waiting in the marshes for his signal."

"I see", he nodded gravely. "Even if you are no longer part of the rebellion, you can yet accomplish tasks as a group separate from their chain of command." He turned back to their mutual leader. "I met with Deneb, sir Destin. You were right. She was no saint, but neither was she the vile seductress everyone believed her to be. She was... something more."

Destin's eyes opened, and shed his tears on the stone. "Sorry... I'm sorry, Lans. I didn't mean to dump this on you a second time, but you're still the best leader among us."

He frowned in confusion, but Destin simply gave a weary grin. "I confess I cannot guess how you got here, but I ask that you take command of this group of miscreants in my absence."

This was really no less illuminating, but Aisha rose in protest. "Hey! What right does this stiff-neck traitor have to boss us around? I thought we were a te-", her voice trailed off, silenced by the burning holes Destin was suddenly glaring through her. "'Kay I'll shut up."

"I do not understand", Lans protested as a friendly samurai arrived bearing a familiar weapon; Destin's sword. "What is this?"

"I'm going to go get Deneb. I'm not sure when I'll be back."

Now he began to fear for his friend's sanity. He would attempt the direct approach. "Sir Destin. I realize this is a hard blow, but... Deneb_ is_ gone. Sacrificed to the Imprisoned One- the Ogre Galf. Where she has gone, we cannot follow."

"So might you consider it to be a 'miracle' then, if someone was able to bring her back?", Destin remarked challengingly while testing Kalanbolg with a few swings for any damage it had received while in Omicron's tender care. "I've looked around, brother. I did not spend a week among this cult just learning the rites and philosophy. I know where my love has gone. I am going to go down there. And I shall bring her back."

"H-how...? You cannot!"

"There's a ley point on an island to the north of here", he explained even while re-donning his familiar red armor and stockings with haste. "According to the cult, that sealed gate is the corridor to their master's realm. To the underworld. Antanjyl."

He shook his head. Impossibilities stacked upon more impossibilities. Destin left the chamber at a brisk trot and Lans pursued. "Antanjyl...! That is the realm of the_ dead_, sir Destin! _If_ that wretch Omicron spoke the truth, any man who enters into Antanjyl may never again return to the world of man! You may never come back!"

"I may", his brother agreed contrarily. "And I may not. You see now why I must entrust this smaller army to you as well?"

"I-I deny it", he blurted. "I refuse. I shall not lead them. Miss Aisha seemed eager to do it. _She_ may lead."

Destin stopped and regarded him uncertainly. It was not something he'd expected from his old friend. "Aisha does not understand tactics. She is too young. Even I admit that. You, on the other hand, would turn down such authority?"

"You shan't desert me again, sir Destin", he claimed defiantly. "Not this time."

It was as if Destiny's Child was seeing him for the first time, looking with new eyes. "What_ happened _to you, Lans? You seem different."

"People can change, sir Destin", he offered carefully, thinking his brother was hardly one to speak of that. "I shall be glad to explain all of it to you, once we begin our journey."

"_Our_ journey", he repeated incredulously. "I know full well it is a dangerous road, brother, more than any we've ever travelled. One that not even my 'power' can protect you from."

"Less dangerous for two fools than one", he riposted without hesitating. "And less dangerous still for a dozen good friends."

He had not expected a horizontal sword strike from the lad. But again the changes he'd gone through became noticeable, as he angled Granbane's edge just in time to block it before cutting into his neck. "Impressive", Destin remarked offhandedly, lowering Kalanbolg. "You _have_ changed a great deal. New strength flows through your body. With that... But who would lead those who followed me here? Anyone else whom I would trust with such a burden is with the Zenobian Revolutionary Army. Not Aisha. Not Fubuki."

"Then I suppose you have no choice", the knight captain clapped one hand to his shoulder, eager to make up for how they had last left each other. "No choice at all... but to bring all of us with you. We shall travel where no man has dared to go... and return triumphant as well!"

"You don't care about the rebellion?", Destin observed, even more thrown. "You do not want us to come back? For that was my first consideration when I saw you wandering these halls."

But Lans shook his head, and knew at last for certain that he was no longer fully himself. "That is no longer my goal, sir Destin. Zenobia is liberated. That is all that I dare ask the Gods for. I am certain that sir Oblion and the rest shall do us proud."

"I see." His brother looked thoughtful, obviously considering everything he had learned. "Well in that case, I assign you with the duty of giving everyone here their new marching orders. 'Good news everyone! We're undertaking a journey to the realm of the dead!' "

"A jest", Lans observed. "You are taking it quite well."

"I am not taking it at all", Destin corrected, his eyes turning to the lake to the north. "_I_ am going to save my love. You shall see."

_Yes_, the knight thought to himself, remorseful at the reminder of exactly why he was here. Of why it was that the Thirteenth had sent him back to the world of mortals. As though he could forget. _Yes indeed, we _shall_ see._

* * *

SKY ISLE MUSPELM

"Archangel Mizal", the Seraphim scowled at the name. "Were it not for her, none of you would be here now."

"We're well aware of your people's feelings on the matter, Ylenda", Norn Dias raised a hand. "And you shall find we have done all we can to minimize interference in our time here and show respect for your people's feelings. _Unlike_ Rashidi, who brainwashed your leaders and was intent on turning this place into his own private fortress."

"His actions too, are on her head", Ylenda said a bit more warmly. Getting even that much friendship out of Elysia was now impossible with the death of her son, Alore. She would not speak to any of them, even at Slust the Red's command. "It was he who seduced her, and eventually convinced her to give him the location of Muspelm."

"So he flew", one of the other shaman realized out loud next to them. "He knew where to go, and he brought many divisions with him. That's how he got here without using the Chaos Gate."

"That is why it is forbidden. If people knew where to find us, we would have no peace."

"Well sorry to say it, but that particular cat is out of the bag", the shaman claimed. "Rashidi knows, and he might well share the knowledge with the rest of the Empire now that we've beaten him back."

"But Mizal", Norn asked. "What happened to her?"

Ylenda looked grim. "She was stripped of her title and banished of course. Romance between a human and an angel is another punishable offence even had it not led to our discovery and capture. Against all wisdom, her sister Yushis went down after her for unknown purposes. We've not heard from either of them fo-"

"HEY! BREAK'S OVER! BACK TO IT, LADIES!"

Norn looked like she wanted to ask more but dared not defy Slust, who was waiting in a nearby field along with a dozen others. Though his previous behavior might have led her to think him soft on attractive women or possibly soft in general, neither was the case when it came to honing one's skills in battle.

The schedule had been unexpectedly gruelling, beyond anything she had ever gone through before. In one quarter of Muspelm, Lyon and Gilbert would be pitting their tamed animals and dragons against each other in mock battles to toughen them up. Closer to the Chaos Gate bridge, Rauny and Ara instructed two dozen more fighters in the techniques of the Muse; the advanced class of Valkyrie. In the mountain range to the west, Saradin and Tsuno would enlighten all the lesser wizards in the higher forms of magic where the destruction could be contained and would harm no one.

Then there was her, and the other shaman and monks. Slust paid each quarter equal mind, somehow versed in every aspect of magic or fighting they were involved in despite a more physical approach in his own style. He

Though Fenril had spent the first day on Organa fixing things and two more glowering at Slust while he went about his rounds, on the fourth day she had come before Rauny's students in a fit of supposed anger at how badly they were butchering their techniques, the flow of the blade. By the sixth day, she was attending each group as studiously as Slust, a harsher personal tutor but also a more experienced one.

"Channel the holy spirit within your body", Slust commanded them. "Good thing is, this place is filled with that kind of energy. But remember ladies- back down in your world, it won't be nearly so easy. This is just to get you used to that."

Norn concentrated on Kaus, on everyone she had loved until the sensation was palpable, and then let loose. With a wave of her ankh, the gaping wounds the rebel soldier had taken in a training session gone wrong knitted themselves back to together, the pooling blood boiled away as though he had never been injured at all. Thanking her profusely, he stood and returned to his duties a few seconds before Norn realized it was the young knight who had made the outburst during Saradin and Lyon's feud upon coming to Muspelm.

Their _first_ feud, she corrected herself. From alphabetical insult competitions to practical jokes, the wizard and the mercenary just could not leave each other alone when together, even when Slust was present. Though at first she had fretted over it, older rebels such as Tsuno assured her that such bickering was commonplace among such powerful men. Only Destin could put a permanent stop to it.

Intrigued, she had reverted back to Zeteginean to ask of Rauny; "How does the Empire deal with such strife? Surely there are many leaders in the Highlands who are unwilling to subject themselves to a greater authority."

The princess had met her with a knowing glance during their short break time. "You desire the short version or the long version? Short version is: We have leaders at the top of our command echelon far enough out of their league that they do not dare cause a fuss for long."

"And the long version?"

Rauny looked thoughtful. "Freya", she said. "I do not deny there are many other practical purposes to our chosen worship, but in the annals of Freya, such bickering is always looked down upon. There are any number of fables among my people wherein two mighty and proud warriors are beaten and humiliated by lesser foes because they were unable to set aside their raging egos and work together. These examples usually being men, of course." She winked.

"Like Charlemange and Roland", Norn guessed, remembering a tale she'd overheard once from Imperial soldiers at rest. "Yet the Goddess advocates no mercy to your inferiors. How do you reconcile this?"

"General Rowdain Figaro does not", she said disparagingly of the slain Deva. "But we do stick by it. Any man or woman who falls behind shall not be helped. Any who try to steal additional rations shall receive none. And any who falsely take credit for a kill shall be shamed and discharged. _That_ is the way of the Highlands."

Norn had visited Rauny's home enough to know that Zeteginea had come into being in a frozen wasteland many times more hostile than the Kalbi Penninsula, and so their ethics remained starkly primordial and harsh compared with other nations, but even considering that such a code sounded horrible. Something they should have abandoned decades ago. She stared at the woman's inhumanly fair skin. "Do you never get cold, princess?"

"Only at home", her friend admitted. "To be honest, I find myself missing it. The winds that outsiders find barbaric we find refreshing in small doses... But I understand full well the effect it has had on us- Zeteginea's core principles are those of a nation struggling to survive in a world of glaciers and blizzards. Not to mention wild dragons and frost giants. This, I suspected even before the Zenobian occupation began to result in mass purges of the unarmed."

Finishing her own drills, she carefully presented her halberd to Norn, pressing a thumb to one of the sharp spikes on the end of the spear. "This represents the balance of life and death in the mortal world. Through the decrees of the Goddess are our souls enriched in performing a necessary duty with skill and valor. This is Her oldest Truth."

"Necessary", Norn repeated aghast. She had always loved the princess, but like all the Highlanders so intensely devoted to their Goddess- like the Deva- she was at times difficult to understand. Even revolting at times with such a rigid attitude towards combat. "Must it _always_ be a necessary task, though?"

Rauny pointed to the other end of the weapon, the hook-shaped counter balance representing life. "So long as mortal life exists and promulgates, there shall always be conflict. _ That _is the Goddess' divine law, beyond these winged snobs calling themselves 'angels'. We cannot work against Her will- that is heresy- h_aaswein. _Even when we were at peace, other nations would war with each other endlessly before turning their greedy sights to us, and there were always creatures to hunt for food and shelter, renegades like hill giants to stamp out...", her serene eyes locked in, letting Norn know her own dilemma in more than words.

"Were there life and no death, the world would be unable to sustain it. It is the_ balance_ which is threatened with the reign of the Black Queen. She, her son and Rashidi... they tarnish the honor of the paladin and valkyr by making us occupiers and tormentors instead of warriors. This is what Prince Tristan showed me."

"Prince Tristan then", Norn gave a naughty grin. "Not 'Fresh-Air Tristan', as you've been saying to our Zenobian friends?"

Her friend half-chuckled, trying again to speak the language of her longtime enemies. "I have... _gatten_ _liebancht_ learninging the phrasage. You're a good teacher, but I cannot do that right now. There are people counting on me to lead, both Zenobian and Highlander." Gladly taking back her weapon, she applied one hand to the blade representing 'death' and- to Norn's great shock- somehow _infused_ the muse's trademark lightning into it, a neon blue glow that she could already tell was deadly to the touch.

"Training recommences", Rauny announced, hearing the bell. "We have to be ready, Norn. Ready for when we return to our world and correct what has gone so very wrong in Zeteginea. Ready for the day when I see Prince Tristan once more. And I have no doubts left that Freya is on our side in this crusade."

* * *

THE CITY OF MALANO

Baron Apros could stand it no longer. Leaving instructions for his subordinate minister Gelwan to handle the usual business in his absence, he retired to the cold private quarters of his palace, this time shutting out even the servants which normally attended him.

Unfortunately, even this proved not to be enough. He could yet hear the sounds. The mocking laughter of his business rivals. The disapproval of a hundred Imperial soldiers mixed with his own private guard. The commoners continuing to blather on about the enigmatic 'Lord Fireseal' who had been robbing his caravans for over a month now. The sounds could not possibly have reached in here, yet he could hear them all too well, a chorus slowly driving him mad.

"Ingrates", he grumbled over some leftover venison he'd brought in. "Stooges. Filthy animals. Whom do they think created the quality of life they now enjoy? It was me! ME! No one else!"

"Such impressive rage, dear Baron..."

Jolted, he fell from his bed, the meat juice still in the bowl scattering itself all over him on the floor and surely ruining the fur carpet. Fear for his life momentarily eclipsing his need for dignity, he peered into the darkness where the voice had come from, feeling with one hand for a holdout sword he kept in the chamber.

No further sound came forth, and Apros only tensed as he located the weapon. Might it be Lord Fireseal, come to strike the killing blow to the man he had already so grievously wounded?

It wasn't. Even Apros could recognize the orange dragon-scale armor that was the custom of Sage Rashidi. "What? Why are you here, Sage? Have you come to gloat at me too?"

The older man gave only a hint of amusement at the idea. "Hardly. I am no town gossip. I came to check in on our... _arrangement_."

"Ah. That." The Baron held his tongue free of the annoyance he felt, that the Sage should choose now of all times to demand such a thing of him. "There is one. It was found in the Tundra, buried beneath a sheet of ice. At least, that is what the one who sold it to me claimed."

"I see no reason to doubt him", the Sage nodded eagerly. "Even for one with my resources, the world is a vast place to hide something precious in. I dare not imagine I have heard every bit of old Zenobian folklore to exist."

Far from placated by the man's modesty, he gestured to the slit of sunlight he'd left on his window. "Mayhap you might know... Exactly w_hom_ is Lord Fireseal?"

The Sage strode into the faint light, dismissive of the request. "The Fireseal is said to be a magical item created by the dragonkin to lock away the location of the island they chose to be their new home- the Dragon's Haven. That is the sum total of my knowledge of the term."

"Useless", Apros snarled, too angry to care about courtesy. "My destined bride deserts me, Ares has failed me. Now even the last living Sage cannot get me what I need."

Rashidi raised an eyebrow. "Give what is it that _I _need, Baron, and I shall do what I can to attend to your desires."

"It is useless", he sulked, absently putting the meat back into the bowl. "Lady Vinzalf is long gone. No one has seen her for weeks."

"Your _desires_", the Sage repeated, holding out one gloved hand expectantly. "Show me."

Conveniently, he had hidden this most precious of items right there in the chamber only he was allowed in, behind the painting depicting the burning of Antalia some thirty years past. Though it was wrapped in plain cloth, Rashidi instantly recognized it upon contact, ripping the packaging off and surveying every inch intently.

"Yes", he finally hissed in contentment. "'Ruby'. The genuine article, for certain. Perhaps I can help you after all, dear Baron."

"No one can help me."

The Sage affected a face of pity that looked strange on his rakish features. "Oh, but I must. Who is more generous with his trusted friends than Rashidi? After all the money and support that you've given to the Zeteginean Empire over the years, after all you've done to help me personally... It just would not be right to leave you in this dismal state."

Then Rashidi did a curious thing, enough to bring even the Baron out of his gloom. A burst of rainbow light surged from his hands into the item for several seconds, and when it was over, the Sage was ever-so-slightly short of breath. For whatever glow he had released was now permanently occupying the item, illuminating the elegant chamber far better than the window crack every time it _pulsed_.

"It is yours", the Sage announced. "You shan't be disappointed."

Apros stared into the item's glow, scarcely believing what he was seeing. "For me? You're giving it back? After all that time I spent looking...?"

"A small kindness to what you have given _me_, dear Baron."

He did not understand. But looking closer into the unearthly glow he began to realize- he did not need to. This thing was _power_, certain enough. Even one dead to the ley currents of magic as he could tell that much.

"Use it when you need to", the Sage urged, "and no one will ever mock you again. That, I promise you."

It was beautiful. It was more beautiful than anything in his vast art collection, and he held it up as if a new king receiving his crown. "The _power_... yes, the power to crush _them_... more than money can buy..."

Apros stopped for only a moment, incredulous at himself for speaking of a power greater than his money. He held no illusions of his popularity outside these mighty castle walls. No merchant lord survived these days without learning to deafen themselves to the pathetic cries for rebellion rising from the rabble outside the capital.

But open mockery from his peers? Worse, his _inferiors_?

This, Baron Arwan Apros could not tolerate. _ Would _not tolerate. They would_ all _pay for laughing at him now.

"Are you not glad, dear Baron", Rashidi noted amiably at his side, smooth as courtesan silk, "to have a generous friend like me?"

* * *

SKY ISLAND MUSPELM

It was not until the tenth day of training that the growing concern on the face of Slust the Red became enough to be noticed by the rebels under his tutelage. Though Fenril remained an unreadably stoic mask as always, it was Norn Dias who first realized that something was slowly bringing the other Sky Knight's spirits low.

If there was one lesson the first phase of her 'training' had taught, it was that many in the rebellion were too proud to speak of their private shame in normal circumstances. Many had even refused Slust's request, preferring to stick to sparring with their comrades in hopes of rising to the next level that way. She was willing to bet that the Sky Knight was not much different in that regard despite his bluntness, and so cornered him on the citadel rooftop in the early evening.

"Ah... I can see my charm's working babe", the red-armored man remarked the moment she opened the door. "But won't your Kaus be disappointed?"

"Kaus trusts me", she replied, stonewalling any upswing of passion even as she drew sensually close to him. "We both know there's no one else destined for us. I shall find him one day... That's what my friends would want."

"The hill giants?" Slust might have chuckled had her face not been set in such severe lines.

"They know enough", she said. She had held such a conversation many times now. "Neither was imprisoned for serious crimes, only held in the usual contempt because of their brethren. Before Kaus, they were my only friends. There's no room for deception in them, nor jealousy."

"Oh. I'm sorry", Slust recanted, serious once more. "I didn't realize. And now they're gone..."

"But not forgotten." Cutting off, she looked up at the living legend's face. "I liked listening to Gilbert's story. And sir Neralai's. And lord Saradin's. But somehow, it felt like one was missing."

"Destin Faroda", Slust guessed.

"I meant _yours_, you dope." She smiled, letting him know the insult was in jest. "What is troubling you, sir Slust? What could _possibly_ penetrate that shell of narcissism you weave around yourself so deeply?"

Eyes shut, the brown-skinned knight chuckled halfheartedly. "Nuts. Just like Fenril. Can't slip anything past you can I, babe...?"

"It was your lesson", she maintained innocently. "I'm just putting it into practice."

"Indeed you are. Well done." Casting his gaze out beyond the citadel where other rebel trainees were yet hard at work, he leaned down hard on the rail for the first time. "I recently did a full check-out of Muspelm. Had to put everything back in order after Rashidi came knocking, didn't I?"

"He made quite a mess", the young monk seconded, remembering well the way her bones froze whenever the Sage was around. "What happened?"

"Our islands are home to a great many secret treasures", Slust explained regretfully. "They're meant to be kept far out of mortal hands, for fear that their destructive powers might be abused. One is missing."

"Only one", Norn emphasized, trying to focus on the positive. It_ did_ hurt to see the bubbly Sky Knight in such a dour state, more than she might have guessed.

"A Zodiac Stone", he announced. "One of the twelve. 'Peridot'. I asked Fenny and sure enough, the 'Pearl' was missing from Organa too. Isle Shiguld holds 'Diamond', and Shangrila the 'Sapphire'."

"Destin spoke of those!", she blurted without thinking. "He said that several of them were hidden away by loyal Zenobian retainers!"

"He was correct", Slust admitted. "The land forged by the Gods; Zenobia would hold the majority of the remaining eight, though we can't exactly track them from up here. Let's see here... If I remember right... There's Garnet, Amethyst, Aqua, Emerald, Ruby, Opal, Topaz, and Turquoise... One or more of them might have strayed outside the borders, or even left the lands of the south altogether."

"So, why take them? I didn't think the Empire was that strapped for Goth-"

Slust gave a belly laugh. "Lucky for you Fenny didn't hear you say that- she'd break your knuckles. No, the real value in the stones isn't the exchange rate down below. If they were just twelve shiny rocks, it wouldn't be so high, now would it? These stones are older than _us_, babe. The runes engraved on each of them are said to contain the first-ever magic spells, in the original tongue of us angels. The ones that were used by the Gods to forge this world from clay."

She fell back, old convent lessons rising back to mind all too easily. "Truly...?"

Slust shrugged. "We've all got verse, epic verse, written about us by bards. Our homes are urban legend. Brunhild, Fenril's key to our realm, was a fairy tale in the human world until a monk found it washed up on some beach. Do you sense a pattern here, babe?"

Of course the answer was _yes_. Norn dared not ask what exactly a veteran magician could do with the stones. She only knew it could not possibly be good. "Did he know?"

"I think", the Sky Knight began with one palm pressed to his chin, "that all of this, getting control of the Sky Islands, taking control of us three... _All_ of that stuff might have just been his excuse to come up here and take the stones we had. If he finds the Tablet of Yaru as well, which would let him translate all the runes on the stones..." he shook his head grimly. "I can't even imagine what he could do. We never used the spells ourselves, we just stuck with our own powers in the Ogre Battle. But that guy... he just might pull it off."

"Then we have to stop him", she said firmly. "Might it not be premature to say that destroying the Empire's armies would limit the grasp of his spy network, would it?"

"Not premature at all", he winked back. "Would you look at this- now you're the one cheering me up! I really have spent too much time in the clouds."

"You've got a lot on your mind", Norn said reassuringly. "The idea of Rashidi Light possessing the most powerful spells in the world scares _you, _sir Slust. Think of how terrifying the prospect is to us squishy humans."

"You're not shaking", Slust observed. "Actually yes, you _are_ shaking. But that's not fear, is it?"

"Determination", she lied. "The faster our training ends, the faster we can stop him from achieving his goal, whatever it may be. One more reason that we cannot fail those who depend on us."

"You talk the talk", the Sky Knight looked on with pride. "Might be a few more days before you're ready to walk the walk."

"Not many days more", Norn insisted. "I'll keep this our secret until it's time to attack for security's sake, but we should not wait overlong. Every second counts now that we know our enemy's true aim."

"You won't do anyone any good if you're dead." Both his strong arms clasped themselves over her shoulders now, his eyes boring into her own. "You've come further than any of the others in healing magic, babe. You're ready to go. But your friend Rauny didn't mince the words you translated for her- she wants this first charge to be overwhelming. Something that the humans'll talk about for centuries. Something even the Empire's strongest warriors will be afraid of. For that, I need _everyone_ to be in top shape. I need everyone to ditch everything that slows you down, makes you hesitate."

"I... understand", she lowered her eyes. "Everyone's been working so hard... We have but a single reprieve. We cannot waste it in a rash attack trying to get the Stones back. I only wish there was something more I could do to help them."

Slust went very still, contemplating something before refocusing his gaze. "There might be something more _I _can do. And you can help me- get Rauny out here. We need to rethink this plan."

* * *

ISLE OFF THE COAST OF ANTALIA

As of the time they arrived by ship at the desolate island which Omicron's cult claimed to be the gate to their master's world, Lans Hamilton still could not figure how to frame any of the multitude of questions for Destin that yet bounced around his skull like bothersome insects. Where to begin?

Part of that might have had to do with how briskly the whole move had gone about, with his friend indomitably leading the way much as he had in better days, but he also had reason to blame his own inner weakness, which whatever transformation he had undergone had done nothing to help him with.

The shrine was equally sparse as the land around it, only a skeletal rectangle of marble, lying at the center of a complicated series of lines in the dirt which Lans suspected to be another pentagram like those at Kander Hall. A handful of desperate necromancers and their undead servants yet guarded it, but it was clear in the brief flashes of combat that these were even more out of practice than their comrades and they fell quickly under a combined assault of holy magic that included Lans' own.

Ahead of him, Destin sniffed the fetid air. "Cale Previa's here. The 10th legion. They are coming. They would not miss the opportunity to seize this land after so many battles."

Curiously, none of them seemed too broken up about that. Even Lans confessed to himself that the Empire might do a great deal of good for Antalia even as they installed their own government at Kander Hall, and indeed he had now witnessed a 'government' worse than the one which he'd fought against for his entire adult life.

Turning, he regarded the group's handful of 'deserters', or rather those who had refused to accompany Destin on their journey when asked- none could blame them. There was a mage, a beast tamer with a pet Ice Giant from Kalbi, two shaman, two valkyries, a wyrm and several of the faeries Yulia had brought on board from Avalon. "There is one Roshian Temple yet remaining in this province", he told them curtly. "If at all possible, I would ask that you head there and locate the angel named 'Yushis'. Free her if she is not already, and accompany her in her mission."

The beast man, whom Lans believed was named Macchus, decided to speak for their splinter group. "An angel? Why would she be here? What business have we with her, traitor?"

"She... assisted me in coming to your aid", he said askance. "Yushis' mission is a noble one. If you cannot bring yourselves to accompany us, then at least you may contribute a little more yet to the Empire's downfall, for I am certain her mission shall accomplish that much."

Macchus looked like he might yet go either way, but Lans could spend no more time trying to persuade them. A fair number remained suspicious of him, convinced he was a usurper of Destin's authority, but none hurled any further insults before departing.

"The gate, then", Destin called their attention back to the shrine, where they had found a circular design, a micro-version of the massive symbol upon which the shrine lay. To everyone's shock he withdrew Omicron's skull-topped staff and began to chant, heedless of their alarm.

He did not like watching his brother perform such fell arts. Instead he focused on the remainder of the rebels who had now chosen twice over to stick by Destin's side through the worst. Aisha Forris. Guildus and Mildain. Selec Fubuki.

Were all of_ them_ better friends to Destin than he for their stubborn loyalty?

"You remained", he tried calling to the last of these, the rogue samurai least likely to make friends with anyone at all. "Why?"

The Denueve native looked disdainful even behind his protective mask. "The kid intrigues me more than the rest of this world put together. In less than a month he was able to learn a basic form of the_ Iainuki_. In another year, who knows what he might be capable of?"

He might have called that as a weak excuse, but then remembered that his motive was no better, not anymore. "...I see. And you, lady Aisha?"

"Destin is the only one who's ever treated me like an adult", the young shaman claimed defiantly over their leader's chanting. "I'd follow him anywhere. Even _here_."

And he had a feeling Guildus and Mildain were already spoken for. As the last two paladins of their order, they had forsaken their own vows for their friendship with Aisha, then Destin. Neither was a big talker, and Lans had seen enough to know they confided in each other more than anyone else.

"Done", Destin announced from the circle. "I think so anyway."

True enough, Lans only had time to lower his protective visor before it began.

The endemic animals stopped their chatter.

The earth shook, driving them away.

The cloudy skies blackened to ash above them.

And a column of red light shot into the clouds, piercing them like a weapon. At its source remained a wide pillar, imposing with the way a cloud of dead-grey mist engulfed it at the base but making no moves to attack them.

Showing no hesitation, Destin stepped between his allies, sizing the pillar up as if watchful for a trap. "Necromancer Omicron was nothing if not paranoid", he noted vacantly. "Once we are within the Chaos Gate, we _must_ keep moving forward, no matter what. Any man who stops and lets the illusions of this place hold them shall be lost forever to the world of the living."

None of them showed fear. They'd all heard the stories of what awaited in Antanjyl, and resigned themselves to the very worst of what their imaginations could conjure up. Nobody ran or showed regret.

Satisfied, Destin turned back to the pillar and pointed Kalanbolg. "Then we march. To the realm of the dead. Antanjyl. May the Gods guide our steps. And if not, then I shall."

* * *

A/N: Hey, a new reviewer! Thanks Reiko Silveron, for an in-depth look at the road we've travelled so far. Same for Psychodude of course. Hopefully this chapter is up to snuff. I've never written a training montage before, and I was worried making it take up too many pages would make it again, too much like anime which this game is NOT. Anyway, the point is made- everyone in Rauny's group working to the higher classes and levels. However, the next chapter actually deals with the hidden stage Psychodude mentioned- Antanjyl, and the Ogre who runs it, Galf. Should be up in another two weeks.


	21. The Prince

**Disclaimer: **Again, I should say that the realm of the dead depicted in this chapter is FICTIONAL and has no bearing on anyone's beliefs.

* * *

**The Prince**

* * *

**Tarot XIX - Sun**

_The Fool wakes at dawn from his long, restless night to find that the wild river has, at last, come to an end, quietly floating him into a serene pool. There is a walled garden around this pond dominated by roses, lilies and splendid, nodding sunflowers. Stepping ashore, he watches the Sun rise overhead, bright and golden. The day is clear. A child's laughter attracts his attention and he sees a little boy ride a small white pony into the garden. _

_"Come!" says the little boy, leaping off the horse and running up to him. "Come see!" And the child proceeds to take the Fool's hand and enthusiastically point out all manner of things, the busy insects in the grass, the seeds and petals on the sunflowers, the way the light sparkles on the pond. He asks questions of the Fool, simple but profound ones, like "Why is the sky blue?" He sings songs, and plays games with the Fool. _

_At one point the Fool stops, blinking up at the Sun so large and golden overhead, and he finds himself smiling, wider and brighter than he has in a very long time. Since he started on this spiritual journey, he has been tested and tried, confused and scared, dismayed and amazed. But this is the first time that he has been simply and purely happy. His mind feels illuminated, his soul light and bright as a sunbeam. Like the great Sun itself, this child with his simple questions, games and songs, has helped the Fool see the world and himself anew, to wonder at and appreciate both. "Who are you?" the Fool asks the child at last. The child smiles at this and seems to shine. And then he grows brighter and brighter until he turns into pure sunlight. "I am you," the boy's voice says throughout the garden, "The new you." And as the words fill the Fool with warmth and energy, he comes to realize that this garden, the sun above, the child, all exist within him. He has just met his own inner light._

* * *

SKY ISLE MUSPELM

Fourteen days after the rebellion army had apparently disappeared into thin air and so eluded the 6th legion and its acting general, Rauny Vinzalf surveyed their attack force with a pride that she might have found shameful under different circumstances.

Though there could be no sign of where they were until they actually departed from Muspelm, the anticipation she could feel rising up from each division did much to wash away the niggling doubts she did have:

_Were they ready?_

_Was this the right place to strike?_

_Was she prepared to fight and kill her own people?_

Seeking solace, she returned to the far left side, taking in each group slowly by the look in the eyes of each division leader.

It was perhaps Saradin Carm who had shown the greatest surprise, standing astride a pair of golems he had salvaged from Albeleo's underground lab and pieced together bit by bit over the weeks. "Dull as rocks", he joked as she passed by. "But hard as iron. Albeleo knew his stuff."

Canopus on the other hand, had taken the great risk of visiting with the Eagle and Raven clans back on Earth to find new recruits from both. From the bird man's solemn nod, she could tell he had ensured only the strongest from each had returned with him. Neither had his reservations on the death of his previous comrades stopped him from doing what had to be done. The Wind Rider had also worked to maintain contact with their other allies, including the order of Roshian, the Samurai order in Deneuve, and the small groups left behind to keep order in Zenobia.

Lyon and Gilbert had put all their pets in a single clearing, the better for them to perform the usual animal greeting rituals and be able to work comfortably with each other. Seeing the dragons, Rauny saw that the handful of Silver brood they had controlled had also matured into the larger beak-nosed Gold Dragons like that kind Slust had used to fight them.

However, the Sky Knight had not chosen either of those to be his mount for this attack. Instead, he sat upon a Red brood which, strangely, stood upon its hind legs. He assured any questioners that this was in fact a natural part of the Red brood's evolution, though the creature's hide had not changed colour like the Silvers. Beside him, Fenril would not be accompanying them but yet remained, glowering as if only to make known her disapproval of the use Muspelm was being put to.

Valerin Ashe had broken down in a brutal coughing fit on the tenth day of training and sat out the rest in order to recover. This showed in the way he vigorously held himself upright, without showing even the twitches his corps of knights did. It had to be killing the old man inside, and for once Rauny's heart went out to him. Of all Zenobians, it might be he who had been the most wronged by the Empire's crimes. She could not tell him to sit this one out after all this time.

Tsuno Balakai held the rest of the apprentice wizards apart, all now clad in the more dignified dust-brown of mages after their breakthroughs in magical power. They had been faced with the opposite problem of Norn's cadre of healers- a lack of the ley energy which ran through the Earth to draw upon. Still, fighting to generate improvements over the tiny flashes they had been reduced to would add up to far greater power down below. She just hoped the Denueve native could keep the magic of his charges under control.

Finally, there was Norn Dias. Demure, but firm in the desire to see the plan succeed. She had carefully broken the news to Rauny last night about the missing stones, able to wait no longer. Though she did not believe in Zenobian legends as 'Needle-nose' did, she had witnessed enough of Rashidi's magic to know that nothing the Light Sage did was without purpose. If he sought an artifact, it was sure to have some power. All the more reason to strike soon. Behind her, some of the other healers looked still more nervous. After two weeks of getting used to a place their belief system proclaimed to be heaven, they were returning to a world that had given them naught but carnage and horror in the previous battles. Rauny made sure to bolster some of the less certain ones with a confident and powerful smile, assuring without words that she was behind them all the way, regardless of nationality or creed.

Going through the formation, she carefully assigned each division a healer and at least one mage, following up with a division of the flying creatures at their disposal. Most would use the tamed griffins Slust had raised, but everyone would have at least one combat-capable flier. Seeing Rauny beckon, Ashe stepped forward to speak on her behalf, since the last thing they wanted to hear was a Highlander talk to them in the language of the enemy.

"Everyone", he spoke raptly. "Everyone listen, please. I know we're all anxious about returning to Earth and facing our foes once more. For they yet outnumber us. They have the power. They have the terrain." She paused a moment, waiting for everyone's attention. "Many of you are no doubt wondering if this is a suicide mission. If any attempt at resistance without Destiny's Child watching over us is a futile gesture."

By speaking aloud the most common fear among the formation, he had quieted them enough to listen. Even the veterans stood waiting, knowing full well what had to happen. She could see an encouraging nod from Gilbert toward the west wing. Two Zenobian men who would never call her 'the Black Princess' when her back was turned...

"We know their forces. Twelve mighty legions, each one the size of our own army. Each one with a mighty leader behind them. You've all witnessed the power of at least one of these leaders firsthand- Kaus Debonair. Rowdain Figaro. Gares Endora. Even Tanaburs Luvalon, who believes that he has defeated us. I ask you: is he correct?"

"NO!", came the chorus, mostly from the younger ones.

"And shall we allow this error to remain uncorrected?"

"NO!"

"And shall we stop there, and leave our people under the shadow of the Black Queen?"

"NO!"

"THAT'S RIGHT!", he finally roared back in a volume that made Rauny worry if he could handle it. "Justice is on our side- never forget! We have chased these curs from Zenobia, chased them from Kasolat, chased them from Kalbi and Diaspola and Balmorra! Chased them from the very heavens themselves! And the heavens themselves have joined with us- two of their mighty heroes!" Returning to normal composure, he stared down at each division with zeal. "I do not say it shall be easy. I do say it must be done. For our children. For our children's children, we fight. No man shall ever forget this day, nor what we achieved here."

As they had rehearsed, she stepped in to ceremonially hand Brunhild to the captain. Ashe would be the keeper of it. He would hold their greatest treasure aloft as a symbol of Destin and the hope he represented, and though Rauny was inexperienced in matters of morale, she could tell it was having an effect on many already.

"To your stations", Ashe commanded at last. "Our target: the capital city of Malano! Long life to Gran!"

Everyone began to move, and Rauny halted only a moment to watch them prepare. Mages, muses, dragons and beast lords... Their losses had done nothing to diminish the variety of their makeup. That would be one more advantage they could hold over the enemy, if only it did not lead to tensions between the leaders.

Ara Kestler held out a hand to her, 2nd-in-command of Rauny's own division. They would be riding individual Eagle clanners down instead of flying beasts, and no mount of confidence from Rauny's flying partner could cure her of anxiety.

"A fine rally", the bird man spoke as she wrapped both arms around him. "Canopus should take lessons from you lady Vinzalf. You humans do have the gift of the silver tongue."

She frowned, unsure if he spoke Highlander. "Me? Ashe."

The golden-feathered man laughed. "_Please_. That speech smelled of a woman's touch. The children's children bit. A Zenobian man would have focused more on the blood and the honour... among other things associated with pillaging and burning the enemy's lands."

It was infuriating. There was much she wanted to say to the snarky bird man, but he would barely understand a word of it. "Just begin", she managed to blurt. "Begin. Start. Commence."

He only chuckled. "As you wish, my lady." They were behind already, but he ran full-out to catch up to his bretheren. Once they were past the edge of Muspelm, the score of part-angels began diving into the sea of clouds below, picking up speed as they entered the white.

And Rauny Vinzalf's stomach began to shake harder than Ashe ever had.

* * *

LOCATION UNKNOWN

The layer of mist within the Chaos Gate felt unnatural from the moment the six stepped within it. An endless cloud, it barred the way forward and foiled any attempt to chart their way, and several of them had small fits of coughing before their lungs adjusted.

Not that Destin Faroda allowed any of this to stop him. He marched forward, sword drawn, seemingly uncaring of his comrades behind him.

Lans cringed as he watched this. Whatever had happened between Balmorra and now had only made Destiny's Child more cold and distant from humanity.

Though he remained confident that the dreadful vision Warren had given him would not come to pass for many months at least, it was simply disheartening to watch how his friend forged ahead. When a sickly-yellow demon arose from the soup and tried to grab one of them Destin did not even hesitate, arcing Kalanbolg across to slash the creature down the middle before decapitating it without a word. Several more such vile beasts proceeded to ambush them interspersed with Omicron-level undead and were dealt with in much the same fashion.

"You've not asked about the status of the rebellion", he prodded in a rare moment where his brother had slowed down to a walk.

The younger man did not look him in the eye. "Should I have?"

They were interrupted by the need to banish another wraith, but he would not let the topic drop. "I had expected it, sir Destin."

"It is no longer any of my concern", he spoke coldly. "I no longer have no right to lead them, though I do wish them good fortune."

Lans shook, though it might only been an effect of the mist. Explaining what had happened would strike uncomfortably close to the truth of his existence here, but Destin did not seem to care enough to inquire. "Their fortunes, sir Destin, turned to ill mere days after you deserted us. I do not even know if they are still _alive_."

"I am sorry to hear that", he replied after several seconds.

Lans could hardly believe the lack of feeling in the words. "Sorry to hear that a hundred men and women you helped raise into a professional army might have died? Merely 'sorry'?"

"Did you expect a 'divine weapon' to break down at this news, brother?"

"I expected _you_ to care about them", he retorted angrily, putting his frustration into his attack on a predatory vampire waiting for them, one stronger than Letishe but vulnerable to the same things. "Mayhap I was wrong."

Silence reigned, punctuated by the occasional fight, until at last the mists parted, the sky flooding back into existence along with grass taking the place of a featureless white pane. A prosperous-looking countryside that spanned for many miles divided by rivers with a wall of sheer cliffs to the north. Yet the feeling in the pit of his stomach did not abate, for it did not take long for them to spot the key differences between the geography of this new land they had come to and the world they had left behind.

There were clouds, true enough. Bits of white fluff arranged into identical rows stretching to the horizon. But in the time it took for them to descend the first hill, not once did they budge. Too, the grass did not sway or crunch as they stepped upon it. Not that there was any breeze at all to stir it, or the water in the river ahead, or animals making their usual noises.

It was all completely, utterly, fatally still, and for a moment Lans found himself wishing that they would return to the transitory mists.

"Antanjyl", Fubuki announced balefully behind them, the first words he'd spoken since entering the gate. "The realm of the dead... Not so bad as the Roshian scriptures describe, is it now?"

But even young Aisha could recognize the innate wrongness of this place. "No sun. No life." She might have preferred a cauldron of fire and brimstone to this illusion.

"Deneb's soul is here", Destin noted calmly, sniffing the air in vain for any breeze or life. "I can feel it."

"Where?", Mildain asked carefully. "We cannot be expected to search this entire place, now can we?"

"If we must", their leader commented. "But that shan't be necessary. Deneb was sacrificed to_ Galfgaron_, the master of this realm. We must locate the base of his power."

"I somehow doubt he'll be a courteous host", Aisha remarked, perhaps aching for some levity now that Destin had stopped making jokes at all. "The Imprisoned One, a high-ranking Ogre? It is not possible he would be anything but the purest of evil. We'll have to fight him."

"True." He did not seem put off by the prospect. "In fact Galf shall be expecting us. He already knows we're here."

Stepping forward, he pointed Kalanbolg at the only mountain that could see now part of the massive cliff, situated at the center of the river system. "From there, we may be able to find him. Come."

_What has happened?_, Lans could not stop wondering. _What is it that has done this to him? Could it only be the loss of miss Ellgwyr... Or something worse?_

The red-armoured automaton leading them down the hillside offered no answers for him.

* * *

CAPITAL CITY OF MALANO

She was going to vomit.

In twenty years with the Zeteginean army, Rauny had never witnessed an attack quite like this one. She did not imagine any of her former comrades would realize what was coming, until it was too late.

She was not wrong. As the flying rebel divisions drew close enough to the ground to see their destination, there was no reaction from those on the ground. No rush of troops or preparation of battle lines. The 5th legion was caught completely unprepared by the drop, and within half an hour the first city, called Trieste, had been liberated.

Rauny's division did not yield to the temptation to watch the skies for their allies after recovering from the fast descent. It was enough to know that elsewhere, all across the spread of mountains and fields surrounding the city of Malano, other rebel divisions were falling down like pebbles upon other key cities in the region, blocking both supplies and communication, slowing the enemy's response further, decimating their ranks.

The drop may well have been the first-ever attack of its kind in the history of the Empire, and even for the Highland princess who had organized the strike it was breathtaking to behold.

"Rauny...?", one peasant asked in confused Highland-talk a while after they had cleared the surrounding area. "_Freyashalas _Lady Vinzalf, is it truly you?"

She eyed the soldiers at her side for only a moment. Unlike some, they didn't seem to mind her speaking the guttural-sounding language of their hated enemy for prolonged periods. Which was good, because even after spending nights up with Norn, her grasp of fluent Zenobian was still fairly weak. "It is I", she nodded. "Hopefully I do not have to explain why it is that I have joined with the rebellion."

The man and those around him did not seem off-put, and some even looked glad to see her. "It's... just that we had heard you were already preparing to perform your vows at the capital!"

Taken aback, she gave a nasty laugh. "Incredible. That pig Apros is so desperate to marry me that he's pretending that I am at his side! Trust me when I say that I shall never be wed to one such as he."

One of the Muses in her division, another native Zeteginean, grinned at her as well. "Pitiful _haaswein_. Might he actually attempt to perform the ceremony without you?"

"That would be a sight. Never underestimate that man's need to retain the respect of his fellow traders", Rauny remarked. "Much more than a farce... it is an _invitation_. He is daring us to come to his palace and prove him a liar." A great shame it was that they were yet a days' march away from him, but taking down Apros was hardly the only item on the agenda. However much her Highland blood boiled at the thought of the Baron's smug face, it could wait.

"Have you not heard word of Lord Fireseal?", she asked the man. "We had planned to rendevous with him before launching our attack on the capital."

"The bandit comes and goes of course", an older peasant offered, this one dressed in garments similar to the ones Rauny had escaped this province in. "He steals from the nobles and gives it to us. Never is he in one place for long. Might he have been an ally of the rebellion as well, Lady Vinzalf?"

"Ah, the allies of the rebellion are many and varied, my friend", a new voice came from the crowd, this time in Zenobian. The merchant Toad stepped forth, no less the worse for wear and actually wearing clean robes this time.

"You", Rauny observed, motioning for her closest translator to help. "You near friending?"

"Indeed. Friending. Your friends shall tell you I have been nothing but generous to their cause. And now that I've given that Badista the what-for, I've found a few new items to show you."

"Make it fast", the sole shaman in the princess' unit translated for her. "We rendezvous with lord Saradin's group at Sharmony in two hours' time."

"I shan't be long", Toad assured them, though some of the peasants looked leery of him. "I recently came into possession of an interesting little tome taken from the lands of Gargastan." He held up a thick book titled 'The Song of Sodoh'. "A priceless treasure, said to contain record of the very first civilizations of that nation."

"We are not a travelling collector", Rauny spoke through the shaman, still not sure if the man was for real or merely playing a joke. "In any event, that book runs contradictory to much of Zenobia's Roshian scriptures. They would burn it given half a chance."

"No concern of the Toad", the corpulent man shrugged, ignoring the dirty looks he was getting from a number of civillians who yet held onto the Roshian religion instead of the Goddess' teachings. "Take it anyway. My gift to you for being such loyal customers. And speaking of loyal customers..."

Before anyone could protest, he was dangling yet another thing before her eyes, what looked like a tiny bottle. "Bet you thought Destin had used up the very last of the Termites, didn't you? But I caught quite a few of them around the Zenobian capital's walls. What would you bet that it would have much the same effect upon Malano's? Only 50,000 Goth!"

Now she was catching on. The 'free' gift had only been that way to soften them up for this ripoff. "Malano's walls are not as strong as Zenobia's, even if the quality of soldiers defending it is greater. 30,000 Goth."

Toad snorted. "Were it not for the original sample, the rebellion would have died long ago. Your master was careless. If anything, you owe me for preventing an epidemic such as the one which they first began. 45,000 Goth."

She spat. "We owe you nothing, merchant. 34,000 Goth."

Toad sighed. "I see someone has taught you the fine art of bargaining, miss Vinzalf. To my chagrin. 40,000?"

"38,000 and you shall tell us any information you have as to the whereabouts of Tris- I mean, Lord Fireseal." Idly, she hoped the shaman would not slip the way she had.

She did not, but instead Toad leaned in closer and said: _Ke gattosh ene gattosh. _ "A deal is a deal." In perfect Zeteginean!

Her mumbled curses did little to ruin his good mood, and finally he spoke again. "The Prince comes and goes, but his hideout lies in the town of Bel Chelry to the south of here. _Behind_ the enemy walls. A prince for a princess... heh. I understand. Find him soon my dear, and all shall be made as it should be."

* * *

DEATH REALM ANTANJYL

None of the six warriors had known what to expect in the way opposition once inside the realm of the dead. As ever, the imagination provided far worse enemies than anything in reality save perhaps the Ogres of legend. But whatever the case, Lans could feel the others relax when they came upon a wandering band of vampires and werewolves who wasted no time attacking, no matter how fierce and persistent they all proved to be.

Except for Destin, of course. Lans could sense relaxation in him no more than he could any other feeling.

"_Vampyr_ and lycanthropes in the day", Mildain broke the ice once they reached the central mountain's circular top. "This is a bizarre place indeed, lord Destin."

"No towns", Guildus commented beside him, equally weathered by the string of fights they'd gone through to get this far. "No one but muttering ghosts and fell beasts. T'is as terrible as it is bizarre, if not a great deal more."

"You expected flowers and sunshine?", Aisha quipped from the rear, shifting to a more introspective mood quick as the wind. "Exactly as described in the scriptures of Roshian. 'A frozen land without time or place where in-between souls shall meet their final judgement'. Of course, lots of folks thought it would be an actual frozen wasteland like Kalbi or Zeteginea. Shows them, eh?"

"In-between souls", Lans repeated, disbelieving. "Then, t'is _not_ the final destination of evil mortals?"

The girl looked resigned, looking down from the mountaintop. "Not even close, I'm afraid. This is just the first level. Guys like Gares will be headed much deeper than Antanjyl when their time comes. Small comfort, I know."

"So all the Roshian temples preach", he said, mainly to himself to thwart the burgeoning fear in his chest. Had Zalas known of all this? "How many...?"

"Varies according to your interpretation of the teachings, but the most common number is ten. _ Ten_ levels of the underworld, each one more terrifying than the last with even worse beings held within them."

"Gods be praised we must only descend to the first", Guildus spoke, clearly just as intimidated as the rest of them by the prospect. Once again, one's imagination quickly filled in the nine levels below this one with the very worst kinds of eldritch horrors, the unimaginables waiting for them deep in the deepest levels which had never once seen a single ray of the sun...

"We are here to find Deneb", Destin said curtly. "However many levels of this ealm we must descend in order to find her, we shall do so. You are welcome to flee any time you wish, _sir_ Guildus."

That statement appeared to do just the opposite. No matter how frightened they all were, none of them would dare be the first one to run from the terrors beyond their own world. At least, not while little Aisha was willing to keep going even deeper. The group simply settled on a moment of hopeful prayer all around the circle, which even Destin engaged in.

"How long has he been like this, pray tell?", Lans asked Mildain quietly afterwards. His friend yet remained a walking mass of fear, rage and denial, unapproachable for any of the things Lans wished to ask him about.

The paladin took his time in answering. "Since we reunited with him. He has not yet used _Phantom_ once since then."

"Good for him", he decided. "Yet I can sense there is something else. Something deeper within than what mere magic shows us."

Mildain seemed to draw even quieter, careful as not to be overheard by Destin as he prayed. "Something in him snapped at Balmorra... Talk to him about anything beyond the task at hand and he simply shuts down. He denies himself ale or pleasurable company, or any human pleasures at all beyond base nutrition."

"Because he no longer views himself as human", Lans noted sadly.

Mildain reflected his concern. They all felt that way. "Quite so. He is leaner. Stronger and faster... for now. For how much longer I dare not say. It must be killing him inside, but there is nothing we can do. He must save himself."

Lans disagreed strongly with that idea, but kept it to himself. "All we can do is support him in these darkest of times, and hope he learns to feel once more."

The paladin blinked, understanding. "Quite. Miss Aisha tries, Gods bless her, but it just doesn't work."

"Then mayhap Deneb could", he stood, finally spotting the weirdly ordinary-looking castle to the far horizon. "That must be where she is being held, correct?"

"Correct", Destin replied, rejoining them. "I can sense it. But Galf can see us as well. We must hurry now, or-", he trailed off, moving into suppressed anger. "There is a ghost, Aisha."

Their shaman wasted no movements in banishing, but she was only halfway done when- to the shock of all- a mace ball flew from the sky to take her in the gut, knocking her down despite the wavering texture indicating the weapon was somehow _part_ of another spectre.

"Ah! Too slow, little girl", a voice came down to them, followed by the main body. Lans squinted hard, then gasped.

"Heheh... What's wrong, Lancelot? Got some more regrets slowing you down?"

Granbane set a new record clearing its sheath. "None whatsoever... _Usar Ferghus._"

The disgraced knight's spectre gave a belly laugh as though he was flesh and blood once more. "O-hohoho...! Oh, this is just too _good!_ Here I am, trapped for eternity, wishing a thousand million times over I could get my revenge, and here you come, right into my lap! Care to _play,_ Lans?"

"Hmph. You may have him, boor", a second, far more cultured memory came from the frozen skies above them. "_Yg'mir nochis... _It is the whelp whom has truly earned _my _wrath."

"K-Kapella...!", Destin gasped, turning to face the new threat approaching. Rashidi's pupil bore the same scar along his neck which had severed his head months ago in the Pogrom Forest, but it did not seem to affect his speech at all. "You as well?"

"Better believe it, brother-man", a third voice called to them from down below. Sirius of Janneia climbed up onto the plateau in his werewolf state, his rib cage still crushed by the Mystic Mace but the exposed heart within yet beating gruesomely.

Lans had forgotten how savage that form looked over time, but now the fallen beast licked his chops in anticipation despite being as ghostly as the rest of them. "It's an all-day, all-you-can-eat Antanjyl revenge buffet! Our special today: DESTIN FARODA! With a side dish of HIS IDIOT FRIENDS!"

With Aisha injured, the other five clenched up in a protective circle as their fallen foes approached with bleak malice in their sunken eyes. All weapons were raised, and Usar's sickeningly familiar chain mace descending...

FWAP!

...In two pieces clattering on the ground. Blindingly fast, the same azure blade severed Sirius' left claw, causing him to howl in pain before tumbling off the ledge. Kapella reacted slightly faster, but the same foe still cut straight through the Fire Wall he brought up as a defence and left him bisected once more, unable to hover as he had been doing and falling down past the cliff edge.

The three vengeful spirits fell as one, identical in shock and rage at being denied that which all which remained of them craved more than anything.

"Back OFF, losers", the fourth spectre snarled, turning to face them with a feral grin as wide as his burning bright eyes. "He's MINE."

"Figaro", Destin whispered.

* * *

TOWN OF BEL CHELRY

Slaying Zeteginean soldiers became easier after the first.

The first one was murder. Rauny could feel it, every bone in her body protesting the action as though a hundred invisible hooks had lain buried within her flesh until just this moment. But neither did the training that same army gave fail her, allowing her spear to carry through and take the enemy paladin head on until he fell. _Mercy is a weakness. Do not hesitate. Kill swiftly and cleanly._

Her father Hikash would have done the same in her position, and with the 5th legion gradually recovering from the drop they could no longer afford halfway measures. Enemy knights, healers, mages, Raven clanners and two-headed worgen all fell to rebel blades and spells, until the path to Bel Chelry lay open. She decided not to question the stroke of luck which had left the 6th or any of the rest absent- dealing with the 5th was work enough despite their disorganization. Only now, fighting uphill towards the trade city, did she feel as though they were making progress against the horde. The marketplaces were crawling with them.

"A report from lord Saradin, milady", a Zenobian runner offered, amusingly able to keep up with Rauny and speak even as her group marched on the town, slaying as they went. That was dedication. She approved. "They report numerous successful engagements at Tash Kent and Corahn's Jewel. Few casualties yet, but he says it shan't be long before the bastards regroup and return in greater numbers."

The princess nodded as she ran. She'd gotten a similar report from Ashe and Slust's units a while before now. Like all the legions of the Empire, the 5th was a professional group, and would not let something like this slow them overlong.

Just as expected. The eastern wing of units had instructions to pull back before the sun rose or whenever it appeared they were outmatched, whichever came first. No doubt alarmed by the sudden appearance of over a hundred rebel troops all across their front yard, the 5th would react conservatively, content to retake the cities and leaving the defence of the capital to its walls and Baron Apros' personal guard.

It would not be enough. Not against all three forks of the rebel movement when they converged as planned tomorrow afternoon. She had seen a good number of this guard in their time at the palace. They_ did _wear an interesting outfit, she admitted. Custom-made armour composed of steel and rare nethicite, a sweeping v-shaped visor on their helmets, with bright red capes and shoulders to complete the uniform of Malano.

But in the few times she'd witnessed these so-called 'Devil Knights' called to action by Apros, none of them had displayed anything on the level of Imperial troops. A few deft fireball spells and moderate skill with an axe. Even the 12th legion under the late Kaus Debonair, known derivatively among the others as the 'Rookie Dump', could do better with less. They would be little problem. A speed bump and nothing more.

For now, she had another task to complete. Taking another hour to ensure Bel Chelry had been cleared of all enemies, Rauny's division searched the square asking for the whereabouts of 'Lord Fireseal'. And though the same measures as usual had been taken to protect their quarry from harm, once one of the farmers recognized Rauny from a previous meeting it was not long before they were brought to a secluded pantry below a granary, where a single figure awaited them in the shadows.

"You came", that familiar voice called in Zenobian once the farmer had locked the pantry door behind them. "I'd heard the rumours. People kept saying you were dead. That the whole rebellion was dead."

Rauny sighed, spoke to him in Zeteginean. "I _hate_ Malano. You can find a rumour circulating in the marketplace about everything in the whole wide world except the truth." Having gotten that bit of frustration out, she ran heedlessly to the prince's side and swept into his waiting arms, already feeling the ticklings of the same passion she remembered from their time together. Prince Fichs Tristoram Zenobia had opened her eyes to the truth years ago, but it was the warm passion she felt all over that had made her listen to him in the first place.

He was not an outstanding physical specimen- Destin had actually been more muscular and imposing despite being a year younger. But neither was he scrawny like many his age. The once-trademark cheekbones of the Zenobian royal family were framed by darkly contrasting lips that could indeed have appeared most sinister if he wished them to. In the dirty red-tinged peasant's garb he now wore, it was only the rich coif to his dusty brown hair that truly made him stand out from the rank-and-file.

Nonetheless, a good number of the people here clearly knew his true name and worked to protect him from discovery by the Empire's dogs. In her haste, Rauny had not even seen the Prince's sole bodyguard; a man in barbarian furs hiding much of his body and head with a fixed mace and a feral scowl aimed directly at her. _Stupid, stupid, stupid, _Kashyier_... What if it had been an Imperial spy?_

"Peace, Iseult", Tristan waved the man away. "Any friend of Rauny is a friend of mine, and I get the feeling I know why it is you're here anyway."

Gilbert, the Zenobian representative, stepped forward nervously at first, but gradually his bowed body realized that this was the real deal, and so sank into twenty-five summers worth of abject relief. "My lord", he forced out the words. "My _lord_... Surely you know that, had we any indication of your survival, we would have gladly rallied to you to take back our lands. After so much heartache, I am overjoyed to see you hale and healthy. As are all the people of Zenobia!"

Tristan merely nodded back kindly. He could not possibly remember the governor's wizened face and lanky frame from the Zenobian court. He had admitted to her once that all but the most defining images were hazy. "You are forgiven, sir...?"

"Oblion, lord. Gilbert Oblion of Sharom."

"Sir Oblion. I appreciate your words. Even after I grew old enough to understand what had been stolen from me, I also knew that such a task would be impossible with the current manpower available. It was all I could do to avoid detection in the first years, and were it not for the boundless empathy of Malano's people, I would not be standing here before you today."

"Banya", Rauny remembered, "wasn't it? That nursemaid you said saved you?"

The prince brightened. "Indeed. But as time passed, our communications were cut..."

"She lives, my lord", Gilbert cut in, knowing well the prince's fear. "The nursemaid is the one who told us of your survival, and gave us an idea of where to look."

"Good old Banya", the prince returned to his seat, releasing Rauny from a brief kiss. "I hope she also told you of the precautions she told _me_ to implement, in the case of a ruse by Baron Apros. You have the key?" On cue, Iseult readied his weapon.

"We do", Ara Kestler spoke, raising the aforementioned item from a coat pocket. "And the Herostar as well. She made it clear that you would not trust us had we not these items."

"A paranoid precaution", the prince remarked sadly. "But a neccessary one mayhap, in times such as these. Would that I had known any better time."

"A better time coming, my lord", Gilbert admonished from his position, sheer joy almost making him forget royal dignity. "Though the one called Destiny's Child no longer walks with us, thanks to his guidance we have come farther than any of us ever dreamed. Gained powerful allies whose prowess has made this meeting possible."

"Much have I heard of the legendary Destin Faroda", Tristan considered. "I admit I was looking forward to finally meeting the Chaos-Bringer. What happened to him, pray tell? Might he have perished in battle?"

Seeing the way this question cast a pall on everyone's face, the prince shrugged. "Ah. My sincere apologies. In truth I've not witnessed much in the way of war. Only heard tales from far off lands, for whether in times of peace or conflict, Malano has ever been the safest possible haven."

"Insulated from the harsh realities is more likely", Rauny remarked in angry Zeteginean. "The merchant lords worked to weave a cocoon with their wealth wherein the rebellion and Empire do not exist. Damned _haaswein _cowards, all of them."

Tristan shrugged again, eyes back on his very best of friends. "We all have our own words on this world. Princess Rauny has led the hard soldier's life I'm sure you know. But she has helped me to learn to ways of the sword, in a way that Banya would never have permitted. Her company has been invaluble to me."

"To us as well", Gilbert smiled at her. The governor had no talent for deception or insults, and so she smiled back. "It was her plan which got us here. In just a few more hours, we are to set out for the palace at the heart of the city. We would be honoured lord, if you would join us."

Being so close, she could feel the way Tristan's features slackened into dismay quite acutely. "You go to the royal palace? But Apros' Devil Knights-"

"We have dealt with worse, Fichs", Rauny assured him. Of course to the prince's novice sword hand and tactical sense, the visored elite guard of Malano would seem like brutal enforcers; not to be trifled with even if the numbers were even. "These people have descended into the frozen abyss of Kalbi and fled into the heavens to fight divine beings. For Malano to fall, Arwan Apros must fall."

"This is not the full tithe of our strength, my prince", Gilbert pointed out when the young prince still looked uncertain. "Less than a third, in fact. Once you meet lord Saradin, master Walf, captain Ashe and the rest you'll feel that weight of fear slide from your shoulders. It is a long time coming."

But the prince still did not seem eager to launch such a massive attack, frowning as he walked over to a half-full bottle of ale. "I have no wish to disappoint any of you", he said wistfully, pouring a tiny shot glass. "I know now that my kingdom is Zenobia, even if my home is Malano." Taking a sip, he showed none of the effects. Only tiredness and concern.

"But you have to understand- I can barely even remember it. Banya spent more time with me than my father and mother ever did." Touching his sword hilt, he forced the liquid down his throat with a gurgle. "Homemade wheat gut-rot. Better than all the fancy wines in the palace. I have seen bloodshed if not war, sir Oblion. Your- or rather Rauny's- battle plan would bring about much of it, more than I have ever seen before. And for what?"

"Restoring your rightful place as king", the governor said. "We gladly die to destroy the Empire, and restore the natural order of the world."

"For me", Tristan summed it up gravely. "That's it, is it not? All of this killing, all of these towns deprived of food or Goth or even its children to feed into ever-growing armies, is all so I can sit on some big chair in Zenobia. I cannot condone that. It is not worth it to me."

Rauny mirrored the rebels' slow dawning of comprehension. They had talked so many times of the future, but never had Tristan spoken of his heritage in such a way. Being the first one to recover, she felt obligated to say _something _in their defence. "Fichs... Come _on_. We all know it was my people who started this struggle. We all know it shall take much of their blood in order to fix it. I've accepted that, and so should you."

Gulp. "I cannot even remember what father looks like. What difference does it make if I am to accept this evil or not?"

Of all people, it was_ Gilbert_ who surprised them with a fitful glare, standing up stiff as a board. Rauny had never seen him angry before, but she would likely not forget it any time soon. "Only the difference between honour and cowardice. But of course you are right. No difference at all. So you may continue sitting down here drinking your gut-rot while we fight and bleed and die for your name and the people. If you'll excuse me, _my prince..."_

Others followed him out until it was only Tristan, Rauny, and Iseult left. "He's merely suffered a great disappointment", Rauny offered mildly. "We came a long way for you, Fichs."

"And I am sorry for that", Tristan replied stonily. "But I never asked for any of this. I'd have been happier being a thief in Malano for the rest of my days." Gulp.

"Enough!", she cried, drawing an angry gaze from Iseult and nothing from Tristan. _"Stokvarcht! You_ are their prince! They fought their way here just to find you! After all that, you aren't even going to _try_?"

"I cannot make a difference", Tristan insisted. "I am no legendary warrior like Destin or Slust. I would be dead weight against such foes. Useless ceremonial drivel, like most everything in this country."

Rauny was stunned. This was not the man whose passion for justice had caused her to see the truth. "If you truly believe that Fichs... Then perhaps you are right after all."

A lightning bolt fuelled by frustration lance forward, too fast for Iseult to stop. When the glow faded, Tristan's bottle was in wet shards of glass on the ground. She stormed from the granary without looking back.

* * *

DEATH REALM ANTANJYL

"Away!", Destin shouted once he had recovered from the sight before them. "These wraiths come for me! But you may yet be able to slip out! Head for the castle!"

"Never!", Lans shot back. "I'll not leave your side again, sir Destin! We fight these curs together. T'is not your blood that Usar desires, nor Sirius."

Destin looked angry but did not argue further. There was no time. "I wouldn't worry about _them_, Faroda", Figaro's spectre said, brandishing his long blade showily just as he had in life. "I'm not letting _any_ of these Zenobian _haaswein_ deprive me of my chance!"

Lans trust out to guard, but it soon became clear that dying had not robbed the 2nd Deva of his strength- the first strike threw him back nearly to the edge of the cliff. "Stay out of this, old-timer!", Figaro growled. "Death itself could not deny me my battle, you sure as hell can't! No cheap-ass healers to help you this time, Faroda!"

"No illusions this time, Rowdain", Destin replied, obliging the Deva with an opening series of quick slashes, making up for his lack of a second sword by holding Kalanbolg in both hands. "This time you won't come back."

As Lans scrambled back to his feet, he saw Figaro unleash his explosive _Niebelung_ technique again, and Destin invoke the _Iainuki_ technique to counter it. The resulting destruction completed the job, throwing him and all the rest of the rebels off the cliff with the force of the blast.

Off the cliff, where the other fallen enemies had been waiting. Usar pounced the moment Lans was standing again, the mace ball reformed somehow and falling towards his helmet before he blocked it. "You'll never escape me!", the ex-governor grinned savagely, no longer held back by even the slightest need to feign civility. "Never! I'll smash your head open and_ feast_!"

But while his new-found power had failed him against Figaro's ghost, Usar had not been near that level even in life. Dodging the follow-up swing, Lans caught the chain on his shield and drove Granbane home. "Be gone."

Twisting it to make sure, he cast a look over at the others, wary of the remaining ghosts. Though Kapella continued to hover at a safe distance waiting his turn to attack Destin, Sirius attacked Fubuki without hesitation, prompting an equally quick finishing blow.

Or so they had thought. Usar's mace flew out once more to take him in the side. Aisha was quick to mend that wound, but it was more the shock of how quickly the barbaric governor had recovered that shocked him. Like his chain mace, the wraith had somehow regenerated, as though he had not been stabbed in the heart mere moments before. "I told ya Lansy-boy", he cackled madly, "You can't get away! Never! For my vengeance I'll chase you to the ends of the Earth and beyond!"

"They shan't fall", Guildus observed while the others fought off their immortal attackers. "They are a part of this place! We must go to the source!"

Hearing the sound of sparks being scraped out up above, he too realized the problem. "Keep him busy", he commanded of Mildain. "I shall aid sir Destin, bring him back to help with these ones!"

It took him longer than he had figured to get back up to the top of Antanjyl's single peak, during which Kapella still did not make a move against them, simply waiting and watching the duel before them.

As he'd feared, the Highlander looked to be winning. Every move was executed with rapid precision, and even as he stared more sparks were scraped off Destin's sword. "I shall never fall!", Figaro gloated on their next pass. "I can never fall! I am DEVA! Death cannot stop me from fighting my enemies!"

"Yet you died", Destin growled, pushing back with equal stubbornness. "Most people would know when to call it quits and stay _down_!"

"I'm not most people". The man's technique surged out again, and once again Destiny's Child sacrificed his own energy to cancel it. "The sheer power of my will has made illusion into reality!"

"Such a pain...", his opponent remarked after the next volley. Barred again from interfering by another Blast attack, Lans saw The Look. It had been so long since last he'd seen it, but at the same time it had been long enough so as to be easily recognized.

That look his friend got when he had a brilliant idea for dealing with the enemy. Kapella, Debonair, Porkyus... The Look had been the omen of their doom.

Falling back as if weakened, Destin allowed the crazed Highlander to drive him off the cliff, made sturdy enough by experience to roll away from the fall with little injury. "You just don't give up do you, Figaro?"

"Of course! I'll fight you forever, Faroda! That is my _desire_!"

Following them down, Lans saw the Deva lash out at Kapella once more, and he understood. "USAR!", he shouted with all his heart. "Vile traitor! Have you lost your desire for vengeance? Have you lost your edge?"

"No", the same wraith as before appeared, mace ball and a twisted leer at the ready. "I have them both right here!"

And so both duels began anew, the other rebels watching for only a few minutes before catching on as well. Kapella would try to get in a spell, only for Figaro to deflect it with his blade. Sirius would pounce with his dog-like tongue out in anticipation of the blood to come, only for Usar to block him.

With every dodge or roll, the rebel combatants moved further west, until they caught the attention of the next pack of _vampyr _and other fell creatures. These were blunted the same way, and the handful of strikes which got through were easily blunted by Guildus and Mildain.

It was perhaps the most unconventional means of troop movement Lans had ever witnessed in all his years, and a part of him wished he could one day see it from afar, if only to recognize how fast they were advancing across the endless plains. Organized chaos- none of the four vengeful spectres would give up the task of revenge to any other, and in this lack of solidarity, Destin had seized opportunity. Figaro in particular seemed terribly zealous about it, now spending just as much time attacking the enemy as he did Destin.

The bizarre dance of blades did not halt until it reached the gates of the castle, at which point the Deva unleashed his Blast technique into the center to clear away the demons and ghouls which had accumulated. On cue, the rebels formed up into a tight knot, five weapons ready to cover one another. And _now_, Lans allowed himself release at the ridiculousness of it all.

"You laugh, captain", Mildain observed strangely. "I don't think I've ever heard you laugh. Boss, has this man ever laughed before?"

"Never", Destin said, for once shaking off the gloom which held him, though he still did not smile. "I don't think he's made a single jest since Gran died. That might count, though. Sharp eyes, brother. Good work."

"I am surprised as you, sir Destin", Lans agreed, only now feeling the exhaustion catching up to him. "That should _not_ have worked. But I am glad it did."

Before them, the crowd of misshapen foes all looked reluctant to take another step towards Galf's decrepit castle, even the ghosts of Usar, Kapella and Sirius all backing down in silence. After several moments of consideration however, Figaro stepped across the dividing line, fighting a tremor running through his entire body and winning. "I said I'd never let you go", he gritted out. "And I meant it. Why are you down here anyway, Faroda? Looking for something challenging to kill?"

"Galf-garon", Destin lied. "The Ogre in charge of this realm, which he was purportedly banished to at the end of the Ogre Battle. I hear tell he's very strong. No one else in the world above is a challenge for me any more."

Hearing this, Figaro brightened immensely, actually looking less spectral as he gave them his trademark feral grin. "That's the spirit, Faroda. No pun intended. You finally understand what I told you at Kalbi- it's all about the fight... It's all about the _kill_. When you get up to our level, Faroda, _nothing_ else gets your blood pumping like a good fight. And a world with no decent competition is just boring as sin. Now we can fight eternally!"

There was no further opposition as the group of seven made their way into the main hall. As expected the place was not well-kept at all, nor was it structurally complex, nor even as sinister-looking as he might expect from the heart of this realm of Death. The lord of Antanjyl had only paid any real mind to the throne room, which he had arranged so that his subjects could sit or stand in large rows to either side of the dark green carpet going up the middle towards him. There was no roof- the entire thing lay open to the frozen sky. The revolting creatures within the hall held themselves back as well, for Lans could sense the way their fear of Galf-garon overrode even their desire to kill the six humans walking into their inner sanctum.

The ruler himself sat upon a throne of black and white enamel, tall enough to stretch to the top and partly melded with the back wall. Though the feel of his power told a different story, in truth the Imprisoned One did not look terribly different from the many imps and demons so many human wizards- Kapella included- had called through the _Ars Goetia_ to be their servants. He was merely larger, with slitted reptilian eyes, marine blue skin of leather, and a tall head with a ring of small horns protruding from his cranium. A necklace of stark white which no one dared ask about lay about his neck. His teeth were actually larger than these decorations, and he bore them as the seven approached.

"Zo you're ztill alive", Galf of Antanjyl observed with a prohibitively heavy rasp. "Why have you come here? Any zoul which enters into Antanjyl is forfeit to me. Don't you know where you ARE? I am the mazter here!"

"We come to free another", Destin spoke at the front of the group, ignoring the way Figaro was glowering at him. "One wrongfully sent here. Deneb Rhodes, the witch. Release her, and no one shall be hurt."

"Wouldn't that be a shame", the Ogre mused from his seat before raising one bone-thin claw in ridicule. "Foolish humanz! The witch you zeek is_ mine_. She was zacrificed to _me_. And with her zoul in my possession, I am that much clozer to breaking free of this dizmal realm!"

He laughed at their presumption, and all his twisted followers laughed along with him. Destin drew Kalanbolg. "She does not belong here. You have seen our power firsthand, Galf-garon."

"Indeed I have", the Imprisoned One nodded mock-graciously. "Only mighty zoulz could have gotten this far into my realm, though only because I _allowed_ you to. Not one of you can compare to Deneb, but you'll all make fine appetizerz nonethelez."

Snapping two slender fingers of his claw, he summoned a double-headed scythe into the other from thin air, glorying in Destin's evident worry over Deneb. "Unlezz", he stopped, "you should happen to have the Brunhild zword with you?"

Seeing Figaro's confusion, Destin looked back. "What has that to do with anything?"

"You truly do not know?", Galf snickered. His hangers-on guffawed. "That blade is the key to unlocking the Chaos Gatez! Including the one uzed to imprison _me._ With that, I would have no need for your zoulz, or for Deneb."

Unable to hide his eagerness, he stretched out the claw not holding the scythe and beckoned. "Give me the Brunhild, and I shall releaze the one you love. Give me the Brunhild, and I shall let all of you walk free. Give me the Brunhild, and I shall join your side, and together we shall crush the Empire!"

"So. Rastaban spoke the truth", Destin murmured, shocked by the truth. "That sword..."

He looked around. He had expected any number of angry protests from his comrades, particularly Lans and Aisha. But no. They stood ready to defend him. None of them spoke a word. They all trusted in him, trusted his judgement.

Or, perhaps they simply knew the truth. Destin shook his head in pity. "Release an _Ogre_ from the hell which he was rightfully sealed into? One of the most powerful ones in the mythologies of the world's dawn?"

"For all the kingdomz of this world!", Galf screeched. "For the one you love! There is nothing, _nothing_ I cannot grant you!"

"I have fallen far", he replied emotionlessly. "Down farther than I had ever dreamed possible. I thought I could handle things. I was a Fool... But even I am not _that_ gullible. You shall_ never_ have Brunhild, Galf. Not while I yet breathe."

Lans could easily picture an entire book of expletives flashing through the look on the Ogre's primal face. "Very well", the Ogre snarled. "On your own head be it. I shall zimply pry it from your corpze, and rule the mortal world myself!"

The scythe flew, and the lord of Antanjyl attacked with all speed.

* * *

BARON APROS' PALACE, MALANO

Rauny and the other rebel leaders could tell something was wrong the moment they arrived within siege distance of Baron Apros' luxurious home at the heart of the great city of Malano. They had come expecting a bitter defence- Devil Knights, retainers, locked gates, even stragglers from the 5th and 6th legions.

Instead the massive front gates of the palace lay desolate and unguarded. A number of elegant carriages were strewn about the thousand-flower garden showing no signs of whatever had vacated the structure. Once inside, the motionless bodies of two of Apros' elite guard made Ashe gasp and turn his head for the trail of blood that lay ahead of them.

It was like that all throughout the palace. Opulent furnishings and stained-glass windows alike all turned ghastly by the smearing of blood and a scattering of pulverized bodies. It felt as though each door and room left the rebels hanging ever more on edge.

Finally, it nearly came as a relief when Canopus reported signs of life from the window of cathedral wing. From behind the main altar it appeared as though little was different- the bodies at least two dozen wealthy-looking nobles scattered across the benches along with a number of guards. Only the figure in the center, at the bottom of the steps, moved.

"My _Rauncorintha_", the survivor whispered in elation. "You've come back to me! Oh, this is so wonderful, now they all can see!"

In the lead, Rauny paled. "Apros? What?" Her memory of the Baron was completely at odds with the figure standing before them, not to mention the destruction which had been wreaked on near everything of value in his home.

"Yes, my love", the Baron extended one meaty hand as though nothing was wrong, his expression one of childish glee. "It is I. I have waited for you all this time, never doubting for a second that you would come back to me."

Now her disgust of the man outweighed the confusion, and she drew her spear. "Your bounty hunter sang a different tune, Baron. After that I thought you'd caught on- I'd rather freeze to my bones in _Niflheim_ than marry you."

"So cruel, even now", he leered back, happier than she'd ever seen him. "What would your father say if he heard you speak like that? That famous temper, as harsh as a Highland winter... and a will of iron that only the strongest can bend. My _Rauncorintha_. My darling princess... Now_ I_ am the strongest."

"Enough", Ashe grumbled, stepping up beside her in a defensive position. "It's no wonder we had such an easy time getting here if this _thing_ was the only command echelon. You have a simple choice, Baron. Surrender, or we let lady Vinzalf act upon her desires."

"And oh my, you've brought guests!", the Baron outburst suddenly. "Now _everyone_ will see! Everyone will know this union of holy matrimony! Everyone will watch, as I bend your iron!"

Too late, she realized the angle he'd been standing was deliberate. He'd been hiding a rock that glowed with every colour of the magical spectrum, and once it was revealed he did not waste any time pressing his fingers to it.

"Everyone will watch, and behold my _power_!"

Eagle-eyed and quick as ever, Canopus burst through the window and shot off a blast of thunder, but it did not seem to make a difference to the glow that engulfed the Baron. Everyone else was too distracted by the man's sudden screaming to attack just yet, and by the time the rest of the division was in position, the effect was complete, the scream transformed into a roar of anguish.

Baron Apros had now grown to just over twice his already-considerable human height. His spine ripped its massive bone plates through flesh like hooks. His head smashed the cathedral rafters as he moved, and his foppish noble's clothes had been shredded into just rags enough to cover his modesty. Far worse were his eyes, which now positively glimmered with the power inside him, mixed in with the madness Rauny knew had been there all along. "COME!", the giant Apros had turned into roared with the fury of a bear. "BOW BEFORE ME!"

"The Zodiac Stone!", Saradin commented almost as an afterthought as he began to conjuring a firewall to start with. "Even I never thought they held such magic. Be careful, everyone! I sense this fop is even more powerful than he looks!"

"Ah. Good news." Canopus swerved, starting another power dive from the roof. "Probably not too swift, though. Still a hum- URGH!"

But the speed with which the Baron's arm snapped up and swatted the bird man into a pillar proved otherwise. With the same motion, he cast away the number of fighters attempting to hack away at his legs. Long range strikes from Saradin and Rauny had more success, but with such bulk it would take a long time to fry it all. Growling in frustration, she ended the lightning and struck a descending fist on its way to crush one of Ashe's subordinates.

She did not expect the pike to sink so deeply into the flesh of the fist, nor how Apros ignored the pain to hoist her up before his bulging face. "Your guests are ill behaved, my sweet", he taunted, grimacing with teeth the size of men, "should you settle down, I'll let them live."

Grunting, she pushed away. It didn't matter. Soon, the numbers would take their toll, and-

A screech drew her eyes to the reinforcements. They were not the only ones- a pair of red-skinned demons had appeared when they weren't looking, now attacking the warriors who were supposed to be their backup. Apros solved that riddle for her almost immediately, tearing open a gaping void with a swipe of one hand. From it, a third such creature emerged and attacked Ashe with all speed. "Focus on him!", she shouted to those not occupied with such a duel. "He's the source!"

In return, a cacade of glow from Norn's group soothed their wounds, just in time for them to run back at Apros and receive more. After a minute or so of this, the giant reared up and squinted. "How rude." Gestured, bringing forth a massive orange ghost head that shot toward one of the monks, leaving her blank-eyed and motionless as it departed.

It wasn't Norn, to Rauny's great relief. But the attack did bear enough of a similarity to Destin's _Phantom_ that many of the veterans wavered around her. Sensing their hesitation, Apros took the moment to grab Rauny, encasing her in the swirling darkness of the more common _Nightmare_ spell even as the fist crushed her combat armour. Since when was he a sorcerer?

"BOW." The hulking eyes and mouth loomed, still shining with the power the stone had given him. "BOW! Don't you care for your friends, princess?"

Unable to move her arms or legs any more, Rauny merely spat on the knuckles holding her. The Baron glowered, but did not seem impressed. "So be it. We'll still be together, always!"

He opened his jaw, beginning to lower his arm, and for the first time since arriving in the capital Rauny Vinzalf felt fear. She had never wanted to die like this, crushed and devoured by the behemoth Arpos had become-

She was close enough to smell his breath when the Baron howled, dropping her before the gash in his leg- the gash which belonged to the sword of Prince Tristan. "Fichs!"

"You shall not touch her", the prince spoke as Apros fell back. Looking around, Rauny saw there were more reinforcements for the rebel side, people she did not recognize, had not trained. As they fought the demons she could see their inexperience with the sword and bow. Only Iseult truly held his own against the red-skinned horrors Apros had summoned, but his mere presence inspired the other peasants Tristan had brought with him.

"It is true?", the Baron gasped loudly, standing from the glass window he had fallen upon and shattered. His curiosity was for now eclipsing his fury. "The prince lives? The wayward son of Gran Zenobia?"

"One of them." Tristan looked melancholy, but did not relax his guard. "Jan wasn't so lucky. Thanks to _your_ betrayal, Baron."

The giant Apros stomped the ground while speaking, forcing everyone back as the floor erupted. "Ah, so it is you. Somehow you survived all this time. A fact easily remedied, son of Gran."

Rauny knew the prince had been training since she had left, but he still wasn't so foolish as to think he could take on such a beast by himself. He stretched one hand out to his lover, beckoning to anyone else not occupied with the other. "I'm here to correct two mistakes, Baron. One is not killing you earlier. The other is not confessing my love for this wonderful woman when I had the chance to, before she returned to the Imperial army. I mean to correct both of those here and now."

Hand-in-hand, they charged. Two wrecking ball fists descended to smash them, but Saradin shot off a fireball to stop one and Rauny's lightning blasted the other. Infused halberd and blade struck the left and right legs, sending a doubled-shock all the way through the Baron's frame.

"Rauncorintha Odessa Vinzalf", Tristan spoke in Highlander as they dodged and slashed about the behemoth. "Do you take me as your lawfully wedded husband, in good or ill, in life and in death, forever in the eyes of the Gods?"

She laughed and was nearly beheaded for it. _This_ was the Tristan she remembered, impulsive to a fault. "I do!"

"STOP IT!", their enemy screamed, intensifying his own efforts. The Phantom spell came down again, but this time they were close enough to roll between the giant's legs and the ghost heads did not follow "Don't LAUGH at me! She is mine! MINE!"

"Fichs Tristoram Zenobia", Rauny ran up the Baron's swiping arm, coming within inches of stabbing his eyes out, only prevented by a blast of _Nightmare_. "Do you take me as your lawfully wedded wife, in battle and in peace, in health and in sickness, forever in the eyes of the Goddess Freya?"

Taking the diversion, the prince now leaped from Rauny's misaimed lightning, using the extra momentum to reach the air in front of the Baron's chest and cut straight across. To the shock of everyone, the hazy blue wave of Debonair's Blade technique shot out and cleaved the Baron's ribcage. "I do!"

Bellowing in rage, the Baron's next stomp floored them both. Glaring down with the utmost of hate, the Baron took a moment to decide which of them to crush first with his one good arm.

And that was his final mistake- a massive _Blizzard_ spell struck from the rafters, augmented by the two amateur wizards Tristan had brought in. "Then by the power vested in me, whatever that is", Saradin Carm finished, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may slay the fop."

They did. The icy gale had knocked the Baron down again, and the ice formed on his body slowed his movements enough to make the kill a sure one. Stepping aside, Tristan allowed his bride to strike the final blow, the halberd hovering over the huge wound in the ribcage he had left.

"Don't... laugh.. at me...", the Baron was somehow able to mutter despite the bleeding. "It's not... funny... It's NOT...!"

Rauny thrust down and felt something in there stop beating. So used to the stillness that overcame the fresh dead, she jumped back, startled at the flood of light that erupted from the burst heart, surging into the ceiling and beyond. As the rebels watched, the group of demons Apros had summoned disappeared in smaller blinks of the same substance, and when it was all gone only the ruby which had started all of this remained on the floor, shimmering innocently.

"A true beast", Saradin said, the first to recover and walk over to pick up the Zodiac stone. "But worth it. Without this, Rashidi's plan is stalled indefinitely. Nice moves, prince."

Tristan barely acknowledged the praise, but Rauny fully intended to ask him just when he had learned such a powerful technique. "I saw the carnage on my way in. You people didn't do _all _that, did you?"

"Apros", Rauny explained. "He killed them all with the power it granted him. Probably because a lot of them-"

"Were his rival merchant lords, yes", a new voice interrupted. Toad stood in the destroyed cathedral wing, bled of his usual good humour with his black beard longer than usual. "A prince for a princess. Congratulations. I'll be taking his signet ring, if you don't mind."

They were too tired to argue the point, but Saradin surveyed the ground in confusion. "Sorry, Toad. Looks like he took it with him to Antanjyl."

"What?" Dashing between the newlyweds, the merchant searched the ground where Apros had fallen frantically. "What is this? Damn that wretch! Why'd he have to go and use such a dangerous artifact... unless one of you took it? Fess up!"

No one had, but Ashe stepped forward, covering his injuries- something had finally clicked. "You desired his signet ring?"

For once, the Toad looked too irritated to sugar-coat it. "The identifying ring of the head of the merchant's council. _My_ ring, which he stole when the council was dissolved by the Empire. I've waited decades to get it back."

"Which is why you helped us", Rauny realized. "All this time since Pogrom Forest, all the things you've sold us is just so we could bring down Apros for you, so you could become head of a new council of merchant lords." The Highland words were bitter, but in retrospect it was not that surprising- a merchant lord only ever looked after their own interests. Apros was hardly unique in that regard.

"Going to need some new blood to fill out the ranks now", Toad demurred at the bodies around them, no doubt recognizing a good number. "On the other hand, less competition." Shrugging, he bounded over to one of the more intact ones and plucked an engraved ring from its finger. "A merchant's council of one... But I'll still be expecting full recompense for the wanton destruction of my ring. 20,000,000 Goth. Less than half of what it's worth to me, but I'll cut you a deal."

Ashe stepped forward, sizing the Toad up as if he wasn't quite sure if he was joking or not. "And if we refuse, young man?"

"Then you'll carry that debt, with interest. All tributes given to the rebel army by the cities you've liberated shall be sent to me until your debt is paid."

Silence held the rebel leaders. They could certainly ignore the debt, dismiss it as a fantasy by Toad... Except that the reason Malano had developed even better training for assassins than Deneuve was originally to punish those craven poor who did not pay their debts on time. Odds were better than good a former merchant lord knew a few people as skilled in their 'craft' as the bounty hunter Ares, if not better. And knowing Malano's reputation for vindictiveness, such an attack might come at a most inconvenient time. This was no longer a joke.

Then Tristan stepped forward, smiling. "Apros' fortune is in the basement. You may have all of it, sir Toad. If that is not enough to pay this debt, then I shall call upon the royal fortunes of Zenobia as well."

The man threw up his slender hands in protest. "Generous as that is, Arwan Apros' fortune is by default the property of the nation, it is not your to give away."

"As a conquering army we are entitled to whatever we wish to take from a defeat enemy", Tristan riposted. "We operate under Zenobian rules of engagement, not Malanian."

The Toad looked as though he might swell up and pop, but even he must have realized this was his only chance of ever seeing any of that money. "Very well", he gritted out. "I shall message you the amount still owed to me after subtracting Apros' fortune."

"Saradin, go with him", the prince commanded. "He'll need somebody who can blow open the door to the vault... and to count the Goth inside.

Another time, the Truthsayer might be offended by such a cavalier order, but now he was too satisfied to protest. Of course they needed someone to make sure Toad would not understate Apros' holdings, and who better than a man trained by Rashidi to see through lies? When they were gone, Rauny embraced him. "I knew you wouldn't abandon us."

"Never", he concurred. "Sitting in the dark down there, I realized that no matter what I did, bloodshed _would_ happen. From the look of things here it already _had_ happened. All I could do is lend some modicum of meaning to this struggle, even if a terribly shallow one."

"No, prince", Ashe spoke up behind him. "Far from a shallow meaning. You underestimate your importance, and you underestimate yourself. The mere fact that you live, that you have taken up the leadership of this army, is a light in the dark not only for us, but for all those who depend on us. Everyone shall be waiting for your triumphant return and coronation. I foresee a great increase in next month's tributes."

"Then hopefully none of it shall go to that merchant lord", Tristan quipped, finally, irresistably caught up in the enthusiasm of the rebels around him. Only Iseult looked grumpy. "Furthermore, if the only choice is between two epic tragedies, then I would choose the one where Rauny does not die fighting her own people, hated by them. That can't have been easy for you."

"It wasn't", she agreed simply. "But you are the one who taught me why it was the right thing to do, my love."

"You have my thanks for reminding me of that, then." Nodding, he drew back, taking a moment to make sure the healers were rounding up the many wounded without issue. There had been several rebel deaths, but considering how powerful the 'Ruby' stone had made Apros he was grateful there had not been many more. Destiny, it seemed, was back with them. "I accept that position. I shan't pretend to know more about tactics than you sir Ashe, but I promise to lead to the best of my abilities and listen to your advice."

A mailed hand clapped itself firmly to his shoulder. "That is all that is required of a good leader. Welcome back, my prince."

It felt wrong to him. Tristan nearly broke off and departed then, but Rauny held him close long enough to shake the hand of anyone who asked. By the end, that crawling fear that he was making the wrong choice had abated, and he turned to face his bride with a smile. "Now. I don't know about you, but I feel as though we're well deserved a little honeymoon time, do you not agree?"

* * *

LOCATION UNKNOWN

Giaco Reldin felt dead. Though he dared not imagine what the Thirteenth truly felt like when it came forth to take a man from the mortal world, he'd now gone through enough of the common stimuli to consider himself more of a learned man in that area.

There had been darkness all around him as far back as when he remembered blacking out in the Valley of Kastro. An unyielding blackness greater than night or sleep, which for a long time had been his only companion outside a handful of faint sensations telling him desperately little.

He did know that he had been stripped of his armor. He was injured, and badly, and that whoever was keeping him in the dark was not a gentle soul when it came to handling their prisoner. His head was uncomfortably light and could not concentrate on much for long. His left leg bones ached with every forced movement, his right arm hanging uselessly at his side. Either one could have been mended by Roshian healers, but neither had been.

Ignoring his groans, his escort pushed harder, making him trip ingloriously over the doorway. Though he could picture the rough jailer snorting at that, sounds were yet terribly faint to him, as though he were already a ghost...

A few footsteps. Then, there was one voice which came through to him clear as day.

"Gentlemen..."

Reldin's head rose up on hearing the words and his jailer whacked it back down again, causing him to cry out. He would never forget that voice. Ignoring the hideous pain, he reached up with his working arm and fished the choking mask off his head to behold the truth.

They were in a dungeon. A more pleasant one architecturally compared to some but one could not mistake the rows of rusty shackles along the dingy walls. Particularly after the jailer forced him to one such wall, and began to ratchet up the links to his wrists.

He almost didn't care, keeping his tender eyes on the other prisoner the entire time. Not only padlocked shackles at the top and bottom, but multiple rings of chains weaved around the man like spider's silk. The ends of the chains were bound to an iron lock on the wall.

They were taking no chances with Deva-General Kaus Debonair. Though extremely filthy and overgrown, the man's pale hair was unmistakable as his voice, a clipped Highlander noble's attempt to speak a different language. "Y-you...!"

The jailer struck him again, leaving blood behind. "Me", Debonair dared follow up after all of Reldin's own locks were done up tight and inescapable, already chafing at his legs and arms. "Yes, the 'mysteriously disappeared' Deva_."_

"But... but! You don't understand, I met you!"

Squinting in the gloom, Debonair drew back. "Freyashalas... Is it sir _Reldin_? My erstwhile messenger?"

"That's me sir", he nodded with a weak cough. "Pity we couldn't meet under better circumstances. Still, it is good to see you alive. Everyone believes you to be dead!"

"Indeed?", the general nodded in disgust. "I expected as much from Rashidi Light and his lackeys. Anything to cover up the truth, whether or not the truth is of any value."

Reldin paused, for the first time considering his position in the larger scheme of things. The rebellion was his home. They might have been enemies once, but he could not deny how the brief encounter with the man had imprinted on him. Closely had he listened to Destin's tale of how their battle had gone down, hoping against all logic that neither one of them would be slain. He had nothing to lose, but he would not offer information on the rebellion unless asked.

"What_ happened_ to you, general?"

"Treachery", Debonair sniffed. "Such treachery. I recovered from my wounds at Fort Allamoot, and then journeyed to Castle Xanadu to confront the Empress on the strangeness of my orders as of late. Yet no sooner had I presented my case than I was declared a traitor." The Highlander hung his head in his chains, stained at the memory. "My own Empress... declared me a traitor to our people. And Rashidi and Prince Gares went along with her decision. Even had I fought to escape, I would be no match."

"I wish you had, pretty-boy", a new voice drifted through the dungeon. "I would have greatly enjoyed carving you up, and then this little problem wouldn't exist, now would it?"

Reldin quavered. He would have run had he been able. A dreadfully familiar colossus of spiked armor stood in the doorway, large enough that he could barely fit. He had replaced his helmet. "Prince Gares. My nursemaid.", Debonair said with more rancor than fear of the Black Knight. "To what do we owe this displeasure?"

A new helmet concealed his face, but his grim amusement was unmistakable. "Funny guy. I'm just here to make sure our newest prisoner's comfy and all. It won't be long before things start hopping around here, after all." His gauntlet reached out, feeling like the very coldest of ice upon the metal's contact with Reldin's exposed skin. "You, girly-man, just might be my ace-in-the-hole. Won't that be fun? Your life will have some actual meaning."

"If you think to stave off the rebellion with a single prisoner, not even a division leader", Debonair called from the other wall, sensing the way terror was holding Reldin stiff as a statue. "Then clearly you've reached new highs of desperation even as you continue your search for new lows. Under the code of Bael Kantos-"

Gares sprung. The move was so quick Reldin could barely follow it, pressing his spiked knuckles into Debonair's flesh and tearing away skin and tissue beneath without the need for his trademark double-handed axe. "I wasn't _asking_ you, pretty-boy", the prince said. "And anyway, I don't need him to hold off the rebels for long. Just make them hesitate, soft-hearted fools that they are. That'll be enough. Then... then..." He chuckled. "Then it'll be the end. Of everything."

He departed, clearly enjoying leaving both men in confusion and fear over whatever it was he had planned. "You know anything about that?", Reldin asked once he had regained his breath. "The Black Knight boasts, but this sounds worse than his usual atrocities."

"I cannot say for certain", Debonair admitted, his body straining against his logic to try and pick at his new gashes. He had quite a few of them, Reldin noticed upon looking closer. "I have only a handful of clues. For one, wherever we are has a bizarre wind pattern."

Bad news. There were any number of isolated prisons built by the Empire, far enough removed from civilization so that they could never be found unless one already knew where to look. "Anything else?"

The ex-general simply nodded at the far wall, causing Reldin to finally spot their fellow prisoners through the gloom and let out a gasp. Though both were shackled to the walls in similar fashion to himself and barely conscious from a number of glaring blade injuries still dripping, none of that could conceal the golden hue of their skin, the once-pristine swan wings sweeping out of their backs, or the rings of light hovering above their heads.

"Angels...?"

Debonair looked skeptical. "I cannot say. They certainly fit the description, though it is possible Gares simply chained up a pair of unusually beautiful Eagle men in robes. They are most withdrawn- they do not speak to us even while awake, so do not bother trying."

Reldin was puzzled. On one hand, he'd heard the legends both in childhood and more recently from Father Rastaban in Kasolat. On the other... It was simply hard for a devout son of Zenobia to swallow. How could Gares_ find_, never mind successfully capture and torture, divine beings such as these?

Finding no answers, he sagged against the wall, finally allowing the despair of their situation to sink in. "I was taken at Kastro. A lot of us were. A lot of us died, thanks to Luvalon and that bounty hunter."

"I cannot honestly cheer for you", Debonair admitted. "Right or wrong, Zeteginea is yet my homeland, and you rebels have come closer to undoing it than any of us dreamed. But I _am_ sorry that you have once again been caught in the middle of things, sir Reldin."

"It keeps life interesting", he nodded back as best he could.

He could not ever pretend to be anything other than a low-level grunt in the rebel army, of mediocre skill on a good day. As more and more skilled fighters joined the rebellion, he had slowly been crowded out. A bystander, nothing more, marked only by how effeminate he looked. Hardly a plus. "And the Gods seem intent on forever putting us in another's path. No hard feelings for what happened at Zenobia?"

The general snorted. "You delivered my message, sir Reldin. What more could I have asked of you, an enemy? It is not your fault that Destin did something so unexpected, nor that Sage Rashidi seemed intent on actually _helping_ him in that battle." He leaned back, flush against the wall, remembering. "Fool though he was, I shan't soon forget that one's inner fire."

Reldin agreed. He also agreed that giving away what little he knew of the rebellion's current status would be past mere friendliness between prisoners. After all, no one had seen Destin Faroda for many weeks now...

* * *

A/N: It might seem natural, but it bears mentioning I've taken it upon myself to play through the game again to refresh myself on what happens, doing each level and boss before writing the chapter. It's fun, but hoooly jumpin' is Galf HARD. Without a World card or being overlevelled, it's almost impossible for everyone to survive Meteor- he earned his status as a 'bonus boss' even if he's not as tough as the final one.

Hopefully the battle with him in my next chapter can bring that across without just having Destin and his allies lose and die. What a crappy ending that would be... )


	22. Rebirth

**Disc: **The verses of the poem recited by a certain villain in this chapter are, as far as I can tell, untitled. But they were written by the brilliant Mr. Matthew Stover, one of my chief inspirations in writing. All due credit to him.

* * *

**Rebirth**

* * *

**Tarot XX - Judgement**

_As the Fool leaves the garden of the Sun, he feels that he is near the end of his journey, ready to take a final step. But something is keeping him from doing this, holding him back. He gazes up, hoping to find guidance from the Sun; instead he sees above him a fiery angel, beautiful and terrible. _

_"You are right," the angelic figure confirms, "you have only one last step on your journey, one final step to completion. But you cannot take that step until you lay your past to rest." The Fool is perturbed. "Lay it to rest? I thought I'd left it behind, all of it," he wonders. "There is no way to do that," The Angel observes. "Each step wears down the shoe just a bit, and so shapes the next step you take, and the next and the next. Your past is always under your feet. You cannot hide from it, run from it, or rid yourself of it. But you can call it up, and come to terms with it. Are you willing to do that?"_

_The Angel hands the Fool a small trumpet. The Fool is hesitant, but he knows that this is a final decision. Either to go forward, or stay where he is. He blows, and the trumpet's song echoes across the sky, its vibrations seeming to crack open the Earth. From under the Fool's feet, memories rise. Images of his innocent youth, challenges, loves, failures, losses, success, disillusionment and wisdom. _

_For the first time, he does not try to leave them, ignore or forget them, but accepts them. They are, he sees, nothing to fear. They happened, but they are gone now. He, alone, carries them into the present. With that understanding, the memories vanish. Though they remain in his mind, they no longer have any power over him. He is free of them, reborn, and wholly in the present. _

"_...and he shall journey into the realms of the dead, and contest with the forces therein, unto the very gates of despair. But whether he shall return again to the world of light, no man knows."_

* * *

DEATH REALM ANTANJYL, GALF'S CASTLE

The grand hall erupted into chaos. Galf's scythe focused in on Destin's neck with transhuman speed, but Figaro's sword intercepted the strike just as fast as it had before. "Your zoul iz mine,", he growled through shark's fangs at the Deva. "Do as you have alwayz wanted- kill him!"

Lans was too busy defending Aisha from the mob to hear Figaro's reply clearly. He only knew that at least for the moment, the _Zwei_-Deva was on their side... And to survive the next few minutes they would need all the help they could get. They could settle things after.

Lashing out with his own holy energies was enough to drive the horde back- thankfully none of them seemed particularly powerful in their own right- Lans kept the young shaman out of danger until her banishment spell blew away fully half the undead in the hall. "Hey thanks. Traitor."

With the rest going into a more standard mass-battle, it was not hard for him to spot Galf as a spin of his scythe threw Destin and Figaro back to slam into the walls. He would later be ashamed to admit a moment's hesitation, a brief consideration that he would finally reveal his current state to his brother.

But only for a moment- a beam of lucent blue shot forth from Granbane, taking Galf in the chest and causing him to screech like a rabid griffin.

"An Angel Knight, here?", the demon cackled once he had recovered and gotten his weapon up to block. "Aren't you a little far from home to be fighting like thizz?"

He lunged. The holy powers might have been more effective, but the sword was more intimately familiar and even he could not ignore the strange drain it placed on his soul to overuse the holy techniques. The beam alone made his head throb briefly. "I follow wherever sir Destin leads", he shot back evenly. "I stand by him. That is my purpose!"

Galf merely blinked, parrying every hit and giving back in equal number, the double-ended weapon's awkwardness blunted by a lifetime of mastery. "The fact remains- thiz iz my realm, not yourz." Twisting and cracking the bones of his neck to leer at Figaro, he balled up one nightmare claw. "And in _my_ realm, I do not tolerate_ inzolenze_!"

The Deva's image flickered and he clutched at his head, but Destin was faster on the draw- instead of the blade, he grabbed Figaro with one hand and tossed him back into the wall in hopes that would keep him down long enough to shake off the Ogre's control. Returning to the fight, he struck from the other side in tandem with Lans, but it was not until Selec Fubuki joined as well that Galf conceded himself overmatched and fled to the rafters on his bat-like wings.

He did not bother with another gibe, merely twirling his scythe in a circle and invoking a biting chant: "O stars and worlds, quake at thy passing! Burn in hellfire! _Meteor!_"

Following Aisha's frightened gaze, Lans looked up. It was not thunder or an earthquake they were feeling coming their way.

Now they knew why the castle held no roof- a massive rock like none they had ever seen descended from the frozen sky, already burning with the speed of its travels until it struck the floor, blasting away any who were near it with waves of intense heat.

Then, the rock shattered, burning shards shooting in all directions, causing all they struck to scream and the floor in flames. Lans saw Mildain take a direct hit in the back, along with Aisha and a number of Galf's own subordinate demons. The Imprisoned One was destroying his own forces, but still Lans made sure to put out the fire on the robes adorning miss Aisha's fallen body before returning to the fight.

Catching on- and understanding at once that the Meteor attack was far too powerful for them to ever survive repeated castings- both Destin and Fubuki fired off their own powerful _Iainuki _now that they were unable to reach with weapons. Joining in with a circle of golden light, Lans burned the Ogre's thick skin, but that was not enough to prevent him from repeating the move. "UGWAA! _Me...teor!_"

This one was too fast and already far too close to dodge as they had the first. But even as he beheld their doom descending from the frozen sky, Lans saw the sillouette of Rowdain Figaro flying up into the lethal rock; a sacrifice. The burning rock detonated early and shards rained down once more... but far less effective than had it detonated among them again. The last of Galf's pack had now fallen to Guildus, and the Imprisoned One now had no lingering doubts about his foes' worthiness.

But instead, he stopped, only moving to dodge the occasional projectile. "You'll never leave here you know", he called down to the remaining rebels. "Even if you win, Antanjyl does not relinquish zoulz. Brunhild is the only way out, for any of uz. Zo give it here monkey, and maybe I'll forgive thiz foolishnez."

The samurai snarled at his outstretched claw, but Destin only laughed, more jubilant and mocking than Lans had ever heard him before. "Yes. A funny story, that. In all your haste to convince me to join with you... did you ever bother asking if I even _had the sword to begin with?"_

Galf froze, a reaction he would regret, as it gave Lans time to tag him with another lucent beam. "Impozible. You lie! Omicron zaid that you had it! Razhidi zaid you would come!"

"Brunhild is safe and sound in the world of the living", Destin countered, baring his empty second sheath to reveal that he only had one sword on his person. "I passed the holy sword on to Lans. Who I'm sure would have used it by now if he still held it, correct?"

"Correct", Lans said resignedly. Destin did not need to hear the details behind that yet. "Your servant Omicron assumed too much; that the chosen champion of the Gods would remain that way. Sir Destin is _human_." He gave an apologetic nod towards his brother at that. There was still so much for them to discuss, but this would suffice for now. "Capable of errors or losing their way. Despite how some people tend to forget that simple fact."

"No", Galf whispered, only moving slightly out of necessity. "No, no, no no NO! You IMBECILEZ! Without Brunhild, none of uz can ever leave here! You'll be trapped in thiz wretched prizon for all eternity! OMICRON!"

Whatever remained of the necromancer's soul did _not_ respond to his master's outrage by suddenly appearing. Not entirely a surprise- Lans could not imagine anyone willingly to respond quickly to such a screech, deafening even from this distance.

"Your plan has failed", Destin taunted him heedlessly. "Whatever partnership you had with the Sage Rashidi? Sacrificing my love so as to lure the holder of Brunhild into your grasp? Your cult of loyal followers? All for nothing. Some 'ultimate evil' you are."

That looked to be the final straw. Screaming wordless rage, Galf forgot his strategy of casting Meteors from above, darting down at Destin on his wings. So focused, he did not see the other figures leaping up to strike until it was too late.

A severed bat wing flew spinning through the air, and Galf fell to the floor. "My soul is my own", Figaro snarled on one side of the carpet. "And no man or beast can control it but me."

"Begone, Ogre scum", Guildus concurred from the other side. No one could say for sure who had struck the death blow, so quick had the twin strikes come. "Your rule of this place is done."

Amazingly the Imprisoned One stood, suspended on his dual scythe like a crutch until Lans stabbed him deep enough to cripple even further. "Celebrate now, foolz", he hissed through steel trap jaws.

"After a few yearz, you'll wish, more than anything... that you'd given that holy zword to me. You shall zlay each other, just to end the tedium of it all. But ztill your wandering zoulz shall be trapped here after your bodiez wither and die... Your anguish shall be legendary... And still your torment will have only juzt _begun_."

Kalanborg slid down, pointed at the creature's lean head, unmoved by the threat. "Then wherever you go", Destin commented coldly, "shall be a release from this place. How much is your release worth to you, Ogre? Enough to save us some time, and tell us where Deneb's soul is?"

The slitted eyes widened, comprehending. "Ah. What elze might you hope for, but eternity together with the damned witch? Unlike most of you, she _belongz_ down here." Twinkling with the purest of malice, the slitted eyes peered up at his executioner. "She'll tire of you one day, human. Juzt as she tirez of every young man she enznarez. Like herring in trapz!"

The sword kissed his neck, drawing coal-black blood from a seam where Lans had blasted him. "Last chance."

"She is not the only one, I think", Galf chuckled. "You're a cruel man, Dez-Tin Faroda. Yet, I shudder to face another moment of exiztenz like_ thiz_. Omicron iz keeping the witch company in the eazt tower of thiz caztle, third floor. Now... do it!"

Destin obeyed. This was one kill none present might fault him for, only wonder at where the Ogre might have just been sent as he disintegrated into ash. Aisha would know from her studies.

No one ever asked her.

* * *

SKY ISLE MUSPELM

Bards sang of love and men and women yearned for it, but Rauny figured none knew what it truly was until it struck, sudden a lightning bolt from her weapon. The same went for those who dismissed it as a trifling fancy, something that held no power over them. Both sides could not be more wrong.

That was the only excuse she could think of for why they were late in returning to the Chaos Gate through the Valley of Kastro, engaging the occasional straggling division but nothing serious. Though most did not say much of it, Fenril reminded Rauny of her old instructor in the army with how she calculatingly shot down every possible excuse until she could see no other way but to confess to guilt and degrade oneself before them. Even Prince Tristan's attempts at soothing things over and even taking the blame backfired, for neither Sky Knight held him in the high esteem the Zenobians did.

"Perhaps if you take a closer dear", Fenril told her furiously while escorting them into the island's citadel Chock room. "You might better understand the damage your delay has potentially caused."

This got her attention, and Tristan's as well no matter how the sights of Muspelm threw him. Moving to the living tapestry, it was not long before they spotted the trouble. Though Organa and Muspelm had now returned to their usual patterns, there was a long gold line stretching from Zeteginea to around Fort Allamoot. As she watched, it grew another inch that translated into another mile of distance.

"Shangrila", captain Ashe pointed out. As the assigned keeper of Brunhild, he seemed less prone to berating his old age these days. So long as he held some kind of role in the rebellion, he could be satisfied. Like Tristan, Brunhild remained a symbol of hope and inspiration. "We knew from the start that they controlled both the remaining Sky Islands. Or at least, Rashidi did."

"Another air attack?", Slust wondered out loud, studying the map. "Shangrila's the biggest one. It can fit way more troops than either of ours."

"No", Norn Dias frowned beneath her nose. It didn't add up. They all knew now that it was extremely likely the Sage had only seized control of the islands so as to steal the Zodiac Stones there. Controlling the Sky Knights and the islands had only been a bonus. "There's been no sign that they know of our own Sky Islands. Unless they veer north in the next little while, they're not going for Muspelm and they've nearly passed Organa already."

"I dispatched the_ rijanni_ on a recon mission to learn who is in charge over there", Fenril said, her explosive temper cooled by the realization that her own home would not be laid waste by a second Imperial attack.

Clamping down on her fear, Rauny raised one hand to Norn. "Do not call him that, lady Fenril. His name is Canopus Walf... But by all means, continue."

The tall Sky Knight's lips curled like flails, and Rauny again realized that this angel might have been the only woman in the world she was truly afraid of. "Our scout... reported the island teaming with high-end Imperial divisions, most of them possessing flight capability. A particularly high number of Black Dragons and several of their ascended form, the Tiamat.

Tristan fixed his bride with a disturbed look. They had both seen Tiamat dragons in their lives previously. They were similar enough to a Red dragon's evolution, gaining a bipedal stance to go with increased power but retaining the sweeping emerald wings of its predecessor. Imperial dragon tamers often commented that the Black dragon brood compensated for having one less stage of growth than the others through a Tiamat's sheer ferocity, and their terrible poison breath capable of melting iron and stone. To say nothing of what it did to flesh.

"Someone's going to a lot of trouble to keep us away", Rauny mused in Zeteginean. Then, to the gathered leaders; "Any sign of who is in charge of this operation?"

"A human in a massive suit of black nethicite armor", Fenril said. "That is all he could make out before being forced to retreat. Shangrila is well-guarded."

"Prince Gares", Gilbert sighed, hands slamming the table. "He's finally come back for another round. I guess this means Rashidi did share his secret after all."

"Now that he's got what he wants from them", Tristan agreed. He was perhaps the only one who would fully comprehend the look on Rauny's face at this news. If there was one person she dreaded facing more than her father, it would be Prince Gares. "Any idea what he's up to?"

Slust studied the golden line, watched it grow another inch. "The same trick we just pulled? An air drop into Malano to take it back?"

Rauny considered that. They'd left a fairly strong guard on the capital under Tsuno and Saradin's supervision, though they all remained clear of the slaughter of Apros' palace. She could already envision it becoming the kind of condemned structure people would claim was haunted or cursed in the near future. "Possible", Norn spoke for her, "but like Muspelm they're taking an awfully strange route to get there."

Ashe went pale. "Zenobia, then. They can fly right across the sea to get there and drop an assault force off. Knowing Gares, burning our lands and terrorizing our people would be a greater revenge than merely retaking the kingdom. It would not take as long for him to do either."

"Then we must put a stop to it", Tristan spoke up. "A full attack."

"Just what he'll be expecting", Gilbert cut in. "That entire battle group looks to be air-capable. We won't be able to set a foot on that island without massive losses, even with Canopus leading us." With a nod to Rauny, he pointed to a space In front of the island. "We aren't required to retake Shangrila, though of course that would be ideal. All we have to do is destroy enough of the attack force that they cannot strike at Zenobia. And should they succeed, we must follow them down and clean up whatever mess they make. We must-"

"-Think of the people", Lyon finished in exasperation. "Don't suppose we can convince the locals to help us in this little venture?"

"Out of the question", Fenril rose. "They shall not be pawns in a human war. Bad enough our homes are being abused this way."

"Like it or not, they're on the board", Slust tried peaceably. "I'll spread the word. If nothing else they can fly to safety before the slugging begins. Worth a shot even if Shangrila is... well... Shangrila. Right?"

"We'll take what we can get", Tristan nodded to him gratefully. "Gares Endora doesn't do anything halfway- this place shall be a war zone when the time comes. We have to plan every step of this." The golden line bypassed Malano just then, leaving no doubt remaining of their destination. "Otherwise, we'll just be drawing this beautiful paradise into a new world of pain and destruction. And on my word, I'll not allow that."

* * *

DEATH REALM ANTANJYL

Despite Galf's final words, Omicron was not found in the tower of the castle. Where he had departed to remained a burning question, but all Destin Faroda cared about was that Deneb's body _was_ there, intact and safe.

"Or safe as this realm gets", Aisha noted quietly once she had finished tending the last of Guildus' wounds. " 'A wayward soul remains long, a mortal life gone'. Glabados 10:22. _Now_ comes the hard part- returning to the world of the living."

"We shall", Lans strode forth, surveying the destroyed hall for any remaining obstacles. Whatever remained of Galf's crew of ghouls had fled in terror after their master's demise. "Together, we have beaten an Ogre in the very heart of his own realm. What is one more impossible feat?"

Holding Deneb's prone form in both arms, Destin actually cracked a smile. "You sound like me, brother. By all means, let us leave. The sooner the better."

Yet there was one figure there who raised a weapon at that comment. Though fried and bedraggled from the Meteor spell Destin had flung his spectral body into, Rowdain Figaro stood before them with his sword ready as ever to strike.

"The rest of you can go", he growled as if just having remembered that their 'alliance' was a temporary one. "by all means. Take the witch if you must. I wish you fortune in escaping from Antanjyl's grasp. But Faroda... Faroda. _Stays_. **Here**. We've still got business to finish."

Several of the others drew their weapons, but Destin could not, merely sighing in exasperation. "Still, Figaro? With both of us in such critical condition?"

"There is no respite from the battlefield!", the twitching wraith insisted. "Face me! When you fight with a _true_ Deva, only one man leaves alive!"

To the surprise of all, Destin did not set Deneb's motionless form down to fight. Did not even reach for Kalanbolg. "Very well. Take him. Aisha, you heal them, okay?"

The group of five obeyed without question, but Figaro stepped back at the sight. "Hn? You flee? You send your lackeys to fight your battle? Cowardice, Faroda. The very worst of cowardice!"

"Enough", Selec Fubuki barked the word, though he never relaxed his katana. "_Enough_, Figaro. Like the other dead here, this place has laid bare your true nature. Getting revenge on Destin for killing you? Don't make me laugh. You're not a warrior. Not even by Zeteginea's standards. You're just a thug. A pumped-up lunatic who fights for the giddy thrill of blood and death." Snorting out his own country's word for 'shame', he pulled his face mask free. "How one such as you became a Deva, I shall never know. Oh wait. It's because of your father, isn't it?"

"Destin did not kill you", Mildain followed up after seeing the shadow of doubt on the ghost's face. "You killed yourself. You used the Embrace of Freya even though you _knew_ it would likely overtax your body. And if you would trap our Hope down here for no other reason than to settle such a petty grudge, then you are even weaker in spirit than we thought. Step aside, wretch. Before we _make_ you."

"Get an after-life, pal", Aisha summed it up.

Understandably, all of them expected some kind of raging denial from the 2nd Deva. Mayhap a furious attack on Destin, or a scream of denial as Galf had made after finding out the truth.

Instead, Figaro looked woozy. He studied Galf's carpet and began to speak in mere whispers directed at no one. "I... I... no. Why. Everyone. Everyone's the same. Just a thug. You're just a brainless thug. Weapon. Don't try to think, you don't have a brain. Why do they say that? Can't they see how it hurts me? No of course not, they're all too wrapped up in themselves to care. Father. I hate them father, thug, I hate them father, weapon, I hate them father, _why_..."

"He's breaking up", Aisha explained at this bizarre sight. "No soul can remain fully sane down here for long. Without Galf's power to sustain them they drown in their own sorrows, unable to even move. That's what Antanjyl is meant to do originally- break its subjects down to their essence to await the final Judgement. He had to have a strong will just to last this long."

"I see", was all Lans could think to say. In all of their time in the realm of the dead, this was the most disturbing thing he had yet witnessed. It was also the first time the dangers of Antanjyl had truly been driven home for all of them. Death in battle against underworld demons or the wandering dead was one thing, but this...!

They hurried. None of them dared come too close to the madly twitching form of the Deva, who continued clutching his head and murmuring into the ground long after they were gone from the castle. Neither did the rest of Antanjyl's denizens attack- Destin only caught a glimpse of Kapella across a river, caught up in the same state as Figaro.

Instead it was fear which encroached upon their hearts and gave haste to their march, resorting to humming the 'Ballad of the Ocean Lord' from Lans' missing music box in order to keep their focus.

Every second put them further away from getting back. Every second put them that much closer to snapping as Figaro had, and the fear of that was nearly as detrimental to rational thought. No one spoke a word until they reached the transitory mists, and then Destin Faroda knelt down and stopped.

"Sir Destin!", Lans called in a panic. "We must continue on!"

The rebel leader looked up, blue eyes so completely clear and focused it made the knight captain step back. "Why?"

There were a number of things he could think of to scream at this, but nothing definitive came to mind for a moment. "To return to our world! To stop the Empire!"

But he knew it would not be that easy. It was not merely the subtle power of Antanjyl which hung over Destin Faroda now. It was the same... He wasn't quite sure what to call it except soul-sickness, even if it did not quite fit the way their leader looked now.

"I felt the Dark rising", he explained numbly. "I felt it rising and I did nothing. Miss Ellgwyr's death was the proverbial bucket of water. What could I have done...? What might have become of me, had that not happened?"

Lans sagged. He knew full well the end result. But neither could he allow his brother to become mentally trapped in a place such as this. They had just witnessed the end result across the entire realm. "Please, brother... You musn't allow your grief to stop you! That way lies madness!"

"Grief?", Destin sounded like he had never heard the term before. "No. Weapons cannot feel grief. Nor can I feel what you all feel, that which calls you back to your world. Not my world." Beholding Deneb's body, he dropped Kalanborg with a clatter, shrunken and weary. "Better for such a destructive weapon to remain here, for the good of the mortal world."

He did what Guildus and Mildain wanted to do but were too afraid to. He struck Destin, a mailed fist leaving his jaw with a thin line of red coming down it. "Divine weapons do not speak", Lans drove home, forcing himself to stare back at the empty hollows his brother's eyes had become. "They do not plan. They do not feel love or guilt or anger. You. Are not. A weapon, sir Destin."

Silence. The rebel leader did not even make an attempt to get up. Turning, he beheld the others, all concealing their concern behind metal visors except Aisha, who merely looked frightened.

"Go", he commanded. "The rebellion needs loyal warriors such as yourselves."

Reacting so quickly Lans forgot how often she'd called him a traitor, Aisha's eyes grew large and tearful. "No! We can't leave him!"

"Should you stay you shall all lose your minds to this place", he warned. "I shall bring Destin back with me, do not worry. But you must go now."

Selec Fubuki stepped forward, the first to acquiesce, removing the witch's prone form from Destin's arms without any resistance at all. "I know what you're doing", he whispered bitterly into Lans' ear. "Didn't figure you for a martyr."

"Good. T'would be a shame to think you were slipping." Hard-edged and always hard on his allies, the rogue samurai was the last person he'd expected to take Deneb's body back, but so long as someone did...

The rest lingered various amounts of time, but eventually even Aisha took her last reluctant look back, and sprinted into the mist ahead.

Which left just the two of them, alone in the growing darkness.

_Mission accomplished_, he could not help but think.

* * *

SKY ISLAND SHANGRILA

"They're coming", Gares Endora watched the moving red line closely, enclosed helmet barely containing his excitement. Had he been a normal man he would have danced. "Yes. They're coming. They know where we're going!"

His appointed second, a dragon master in gold trim, regarded him dully. "This is not ill news, my lord?"

The Black Knight pumped his dark iron fist. "It's the _best_ news, Hyone. Because the word will spread_._ _Everyone_ back on Earth will know what's going on and that the rebels are in desperate need of fliers. And the_ kid_ will hear about it. And he'll _come_!"

"Ah. I see", he replied without enthusiasm. It was possible he did not even know who 'the kid' was. "Though I've never been there and we shall do our best, it strikes me that this force is still insufficient to capture Zenobia, my lord."

"Smart man", the Prince petted him with one massive hand. "I couldn't bring anyone else, or old man Rashidi would catch on too soon. Still, you guys are the 3rd Legion. You're the best of the best, with more potential Deva candidates than any of those slackers who lost in Zenobia." Walking over to the citadel window, he illustrated his point with the number of Tiamats being prepared for battle out in the clearing. "But don't you worry Hyone. I've got a plan to get revenge on those bastards whether the kid shows up or not."

Hyone looked like he was about to inquire further, but the flash of a dove drew his eyes away. Gares did not banish him from the chamber, watching the tender-looking bird as it came to a perch in the rafters before opening its beak. "IDIOT!"

"Oh, hi master", Gares said, taking less time than his aide to recover from the shock and volume. "I guess you finally caught on."

"You impossible, gut-licking, hare-brained IDIOT!", the tiny dove somehow spoke in the normally affable tones of Sage Rashidi. "Just what do you think you're doing, eh?"

The Prince spread his metal-clad arms wide as if he was a child caught with one hand reaching for forbidden sweets. "What, this? Just the start of my revenge, that's all. I told you from the start I wanted the kid, and he hasn't been seen for weeks. This is the best way I could think of to flush him out."

"By taking control of a flying island he may not even know exists?", the Sage roared. "That new helmet you commissioned must be cutting off your oxygen, prince."

"It'll work", he assured the dove in the same tones he had used with Hyone. "I um, 'convinced' the angels here to show me how their Chock works. We're flying low. Lower than usual. So everyone outside will see us coming. Every rumor mill will overflow with the news before we even reach Kastolatian waters."

"Everyone shall know the Sky Islands exist", the voice coming from the dove's beak growled. "They shall start asking questions I'd rather they not ask."

"Not my problem", the prince waved the objection away. "Besides, it's not like this is all for me or anything. I'm accomplishing a multitude of important goals here beyond finally killing that kid. We are bound to Zenobia, to pay them back for their gall in starting this rebellion in the first place. We shall cripple their funding and supplies with this attack."

"With only the aerial component of the 3rd Legion?" Rashidi was skeptical, but at least interested now in Gares' plan. "Did I not give you instructions to keep safe our special prisoner?"

"Oh, don't worry. He's up here too", Gares said, already picturing the winsome face of the traitor Deva, Kaus Debonair. Still chained up in the dungeon of the citadel with his new buddy Reldin and the angels they'd interrogated. "And soon, he shall be a problem no longer."

The dove said nothing for a long time, and Gares wondered if the Sage's spell had worn off before it opened its beak again. "Your mother shall hear of this, prince. I cannot hide such a transgression from her. Future Emperor you may be, but even you must follow the edicts of the current ruler. Lose Isle Shangrila, with all of its resources... and you may as well not return at all."

"I'd rather die than lose", the prince offered fake-sweetly. "Is that good enough for you, honey-bunch?"

"This is not a _game_, prince!", the Sage argued. "You cannot possibly hope to hold an entire kingdom with only half the 3rd. The rebellion has renewed their attack in Malano, taken the capital from us. You are wasting valuable troops at a time when we need them the most!"

"I am aware you dislike competition in that area", he turned, rather enjoying the way Hyone was twitching. "But just trust me, okay? I know what I'm doing."

He waited expectantly. Sure enough, the dove seemed to have a seizure before speaking Rashidi's words again. "No. NO! You cannot do that! I forbid it! The damage it shall inflict...!"

"Everyone in Zenobia shall die", Gares said in open glee. "Everyone who has ever joined, aided or helped our enemies in any way shall ALL die for their betrayal. They won't even _have_ a home left to defend, depending on how the winds blow."

"NO!" The dove swooped, as clear a sign as any of how panicked the Sage had become. Gares caught the bird effortlessly in one hand and crushed it into a ball of feathers and blood, silencing the Sage's furious howls at last.

"Redouble the patrols", he ordered Hyone after the latter had stared at the bird for several moments. "Get the girly-man from the dungeons to act as our shield. They'll be here soon. I know it."

Refusing out of either courtesy or fear to ask what Rashidi had truly meant, the dragon master swept from the planning chamber without a word.

And from the heart of the citadel, the Black Knight laughed.

* * *

DEATH REALM ANTANJYL

How long had he waited? How long had he tried again and again and again to rouse his brother from this trance? How much longer before the darkness swallowed them both?

Lans Hamilton could not answer any of these questions. He no longer cared. They would return together, or they would not. It was that simple.

All the same, the depth of Destin's brokenness had ceased becoming sympathetic to him a long time back. Now it was simply frustrating. Merely getting the boy to his feet had been a task, and he had not resisted as Lans mopped the blood from his jaw.

"You have to come back", he pleaded. "The world _needs_ you, sir Destin."

"No one can say what the world needs", came the whispered reply. "Deneb is safe, and the world above is safe from _me_. That is enough."

"That is enough? Then why did we begin this, sir Destin? Why did we even start? If all you care about is yourself and the witch... Then you should've stayed at Volzak with your books."

To his further shock, he agreed. "But not even my powers can turn back time. Go, brother. Your goal is to aid the rebellion. So go, and lend your new powers to its cause."

"Not anymore", he said. A glow sparked from his back, more instinctual than anything else. But the sight of the two glowing wings spreading from his back was dramatic enough that even Destin had to sit up and take notice.

"So Galf was right", he observed in a wonderment that Lans relished. _Any_ emotion was better than flat out despair. "You are an Angel Knight- I read about them at a Roshian temple. How, Lans? Might you always have been such, a guardian angel from the heavens, sent by Twenty-Two to set me on my course in history?"

"Nay, sir Destin", he digressed. "I am but a man. Only after I was slain in my attempts to replace you as leader of the rebellion did this happen to me. I was a fool. No one can replace you, brother. _No one_ else can be Destiny's Child."

He might have said more, but a change of scenery around them cut him off. The mists were disappearing, giving away to something brighter shining through.

But Lans did not rejoice at this. The light belonged to the glow of an empty plain and an identical sky above. Whiter than snow at both ends, it stretched into infinity wherever he looked. For all he knew of Antanjyl, this might have been the realm's digestive tract. And they were teetering on the edge of it.

"This man speaks lies", a new voice came from behind them. The blank abyss stretched on to infinity, but this one had simply appeared out of the ether. "For I am Destiny's Child. Destined to unite this world into the perfect, eternal kingdom."

Lans turned around slowly. He knew the voice. The voice of his friend, changed just enough to set his hair on end. He knew the armour. It belonged to the man from the vision that had set him down this road, the man who yet haunted his nightmares.

The man who had once answered to Destin Faroda, and was- or would some day become- the God-Emperor of the world.

* * *

SKY ISLAND SHANGRILA

Neither the rebellion or the Empire's respected 3rd Legion had come to the largest of the Sky Islands expecting a simple battle. Canopus had led the charge once more, into a fight many times more chaotic than the charge at Organa. All that prevented Muspelm from taking even more collateral damage than it had last time were the strict orders the enemy seemed to have to remain with their own island, and avoid pursuing targets of opportunity.

Still, even after they had forged past the patrols the struggle was not made easier. Dragoners and their pets, muses and doll masters all made painful appearances. True to Slust's words the people of the island had utterly refused to bow to the will of their conquerors, and so the slack was taken up by a contingent of purple-caped devil knights.

"Not so unique after all", Fichs Tristoram observed once they had beaten back the latest wave. "Apros might have wished to believe he held something of great value in them."

"Pretenders", Ashe scoffed. The captain had gladly taken the prince into his own unit from the start, and he had yet to work up the courage to admit he found the older man's over-protectiveness more than a bit off-putting. "Fancy armor and a single fire spell does not a champion make, my prince. You are not hurt?"

He raised his arms to show his armor and his intact long sword, _Calfydwych_. "Not since you asked me ten minutes ago."

"Do not joke, prince. In such a fight, one can go from perfect health to death in less than a second. Now, more than ever, this conflict has become a duel of champions, where individual power counts for much more than numbers. Why do you think Zagan has been so dedicated to proving himself lately? He wants recognition. He wants his own division to lead."

Tristan nodded. He knew all about battle lines, and the enemy had not created a single one yet, preferring to strike and fade from all sides with the flight-capable units which had brought them here. "All the more reason to seek out their leader quickly. You said that Rashidi had brainwashed the 3 Sky Knights?"

"Indeed. But Fogel, the last one, is said to control Shiguld, the Ruined City. No... I cannot guess for certain, but there is only one we know who fits Canopus' description."

"Gares Endora." The 'other' prince." The number of black dragons they'd encountered fit. "Why? I had believed this was a private project of the Sage."

Ashe shrugged, shoulder bones creaking but Tristan dared not question it. "We have known that he has been in Rashidi's confidences for quite some time. Even twenty-five years ago, Gares was the one chosen to receive the illusion which made him appear to be me during his execution of Gran and his family... My apologies."

Tristan paused. Everyone was still so infuriatingly touchy on that subject, so worried that mentioning the executions might make him burst into tears. How fragile did they think him? None of the Zenobians seemed to care that he had not even been a witness to it, that he could barely remember any of what had happened. They had their picture of the prince in their heads and stuck to it.

"Do not grieve overlong, captain", he managed with a smile "I know full well it was not you who slew my family. That was the very murderer said to be here, directing the enemy. Let us make sure he does not escape this time, yes?"

None of the others were surprised at the settlements scattered across the island where they rested. Nor were they much offended at the way none of Shangrila's people deigned to speak to them beyond the negative and affirmative. "Slust did warn us", Zagan noted after washing off the guts of a green dragon. "Do not expect gratitude when we liberate the citadel from the Black Knight's grasp. Few did when we took Organa and Muspelm. _Pesh'yk s_nobs."

Tristan shook his head at that. "Prejudice and inequality, even amongst the heavens. Their denial of it only brings them closer to what we have on Earth." Like his memories, the discussion of his dislike of traditional arrangements of nobles and peasants was not a subject for polite conversation among Zenobian veterans.

However he must have let something slip, for like Alore had, a single angel appeared before their departure, a female one with cherry-red feathers and hair. "You must listen, human."

The prince looked around. Iseult was still standing at the ready if this was a trap, silent as ever but ready to pounce. "Do not ask us to leave and stop contaminating your home with war", he tried. "We shall leave once the Empire's forces are purged from this rock. If you have a problem with that, you may take it up with Slust and Fenril."

"No, no", she threw up her slender hands. "I come to warn you. You must hurry along in your plans for victory. The human prince Gares was expecting you to come. He _desired_ it."

His stomach fell. _Now_ the cherry angel had his attention. "Truly? He deliberately flew this island into our territory, knowing we would respond and attack him?"

"Yes, but that is only the beginning. Have lady Fenril or lord Slust told you of the Chock?"

They had not, but Rauny had spoken of it. "The magic-infused anchor point for each of these islands, which controls their flight and path."

"Indeed. It also contains the powerful energies which allow them to fly. That is the Black Knight's true goal."

"His true goal", he whispered. "He wanted us to come here, so that he could...?"

"Destroy it", the Cherubim nodded. "Destroy Shangrila. I overheard his men talking, preparing. They plan to drop our home onto a place called 'Zenobia'. If the Chock is destroyed, there shall be nothing left holding us up!"

For a moment Tristan could not think. Then his brain kicked back in, conjuring all possible images of the damage such a plan would cause. It already felt as though they were standing upon a giant time bomb. "Impossible... Drop this sacred isle onto Zenobia? That would...!" He dared not give voice to the possibility, and the angel did not contradict him.

Of course it would. He was no astronomer but he knew enough. An object of that size, dropped from that height, would sink the point of impact- the capital most likely- into the surrounding sea or turn it into a crater. Burning like the largest meteor ever with the momentum of the descent, Shangrila would generate a shockwave of 100 miles or more, eradicating all life west of Sharom or further and transforming the 'kingdom of the Gods' into a barren waste. All would be ashes. Ashes and dust.

All of which meant that Prince Gares Endora had finally, truly gone mad. Tristan had heard every horror story about him that drifted through the marketplaces and taverns of his adopted home, but not one rebel had ever guessed he would do such a thing as this.

He ran screaming to captain Ashe, Iseult following behind.

* * *

DEATH REALM ANTANJYL

Emperor Destin was not alone. As Lans stared, other figures made themselves contrasted against the endless white of the abyss. Though differently-armored and garbed, each bore the same face.

"Why are we here?", one near-copy asked, sounding as broken as the real thing on the ground. They moved without stepping, drifting about as if ghosts. "To save a million peasants from their ultimate fate?"

"What have they to do with us?", another one armed with Brunhild wondered aloud. "What has any mortal king?"

"Just excuses", the Emperor continued, his helmeted voice still as hatefully familiar as Lans remembered. "All beings look to a greater power to believe in, whether the Gods or a mighty leader, and those to look to a higher one still. To blame for their failures and to abandon their morality to authority. Shall we not become that higher power? The one _true_ king?"

"No", one draped in animal hides replied huskily. "Far better to kill them all. Such nameless weaklings do not deserve the miracle of life."

"But Deneb", another protested. "We love her. We cannot abandon her."

"They would kill her for her differences", another clad in similar armor to the Emperor hissed. "Just as they would turn on us. It is the only way to keep her safe. The only true way to liberation."

"They look to us for guidance", one with longer hair said. "We cannot be so wanton."

"When did we ask to play such a role?", another appeared behind Lans and shouted in anger. "When did we ask for this power, this Destiny? Who claimed we cannot make our own?"

"Each one has another they love as much as Deneb. Do we wish to deal them such an injury as that?"

"They are insects."

"They are _people_!"

"They are fools."

"They are human!"

He had seen enough. Lans raised Granbane to begin focusing his power, only stopping when a hand brought itself to his arm, forcing it back down. "You cannot help", a higher-pitched voice said. Turning, he nearly dropped his weapon.

"You...!", his brother murmured from his spot on the ground.

A red-haired woman about Destin's age stared back at them. Before long, Lans saw other similarities too. "He has to overcome this by himself", she told him calmly. "Only then can his path truly be decided upon."

So much to ask and such little time to ask it. After a breadth where the number of arguing copies bumped up to twenty, he decided on the most important one. "Who are you?"

"I am Destin", the woman answered casually. Seeing his confusion, she elaborated. "More specifically, I am one possible Destin. Just like the rest of these."

"But you're a woman", he said, feeling immensely stupid the moment he said it.

She shrugged. "As decided by _Fauture_. Tarot zero."

"You're a Zeteginean", he pointed out, catching the pale skin and the white circle in her slate gray eyes.

"I am. I was Lady Destine Earwind, _Einherjar_ of the 11th Legion until I disobeyed orders to burn a village. Disgraced and exiled, I found shelter at the Zenobian Tor with Warren. He believed I was the one destined to lead a rebellion against my own people."

"Then all of these are...?"

The woman's eyes scoured the crowd. "All possible paths of Destiny's Child. You've already beheld one of the worst ones- Warren told me about it."

He followed her gaze. 'Emperor Destin' was not doing anything beside encouraging his brother onto paths of slaughter and cruelty, but he still looked as formidable as ever. "That shall not be his fate."

The other Destin- Lans designated her as 'Earwind'- looked impassive. "It is a possibility you cannot fully prevent, though I know that is what both of us are here for. Fear not, Lans Hamilton. There are twenty other distinct possible ends to this tale, though you may not like all of them."

She gestured over to the second 'Emperor'. "The armor hides it, but that is a possible course I might have taken- that Destine Earwind became as merciless and evil an Empress as Endora. And unlike the one you saw before, you could not bring yourself to slay the one whom you loved."

None of the others seemed to care about her words, too busy pouring down on the Destin than Lans knew and trying to sway him. "Why do you not help? Please! He is in agony from this!"

"I'm considering it", Destine admitted. "Warren Moon asked me to help, contacted me through my dreams and pulled me into this realm. But if I tried helping now... _No_. My voice would be lost among this crowd. We must wait."

Doing nothing to help now might well be the most difficult thing he had ever done. But seeing the compassion in their new companion's eyes, Lans forced himself to only watch, only asking questions to divert his mind from what he knew his friend must be experiencing.

"Yours is a different fate?"

"It is", she nodded. "Warren's hard to understand sometimes, but I got the idea. Destiny's Child is a nexus of possibilities both good and bad. And now his fate determines the future of the world."

"I know. That is why I came to find him."

Suddenly, Destin's counterpart looked very harsh. "Really. You cheated Death in order to find him? And that is your geas as an Angel Knight, to save the world from the threat he represents?" When he turned away, she only pushed further, clearly concerned. "You have come to slay him, haven't you?"

Of course. No matter which Destin it was, Lans could never hide a lie from him or 'her'. Especially a lie as big as this one. He knew. He'd known from the moment Yushis had told him what he had become.

"...Yes. That is my mission. _That _is why I have returned."

* * *

SKY ISLAND SHANGRILA

When word reached the division leaders of Gares Endora's proposed plan for the flying island, what surprised Tristan the most was the lack of disbelief. No one called him a liar or claimed the angel who had spoken to him was merely trying to get them to win faster so they could leave. The veterans all knew the Black Knight, if not from his crimes in Zenobia then the encounter at island Avalon where he had nearly defeated them.

The plan had to change. Instead of taking advantage of the enemy's reluctance to chase them, every available unit was recalled to the town of Rusheln regardless of losses. Tristan was beyond relieved to see Rauny and Iseult survive the trip, even as he felt guilt rising for the many he knew had died to get them this far.

Like at Avalon, Gares did not launch himself into the fray even as the rebels reorganized themselves into a spear point aimed for the citadel at the heart of the island. He waited there with uncharacteristic patience, allowing the 3rd legion under Dragon Master Hyone to wear them down, many times inflicting injuries too severe to be reversed by a healer.

Tristan kept them on course, fighting to be allowed to risk his own life just as often as he fought the enemy in their path. Finally, Ashe would have no more of it, taking the prince aside after a pair of Tiamat had pounced from behind a waterfall and melted their shaman into a pile of acid-fused flesh. "I have seen your skills grow even in the short time we have fought together", he said sternly. "But only the best of us can risk fighting the Black Knight. Your life is too valuble to risk in such an engagement."

"If Gares wins Zenobia shall be gone and it won't matter", he countered. "Every man counts. I want my shot at him."

Yet Rauny agreed with the captain, speaking for the Zetegineans as well. "I know this is hard Fichs", she told him in Highland talk that resisted her efforts to sound gentle and instead made it seem like she was violently reprimanding him. "But the best thing for your people is that you stay out of this. You saw it with that creature Apros turned himself into- more than a dozen of us in one place and it gets too crowded to fight well. We are too busy taking care not to strike our allies to use our full potential."

"The 2nd wave then", he maintained. Inexperienced or not he was still the opinion leader. And trial and error had proven that their chances for survival went up dramatically when the newlyweds were there to watch each other's backs. Beside him, Iseult stood clad in furs- the sole survivor of his make-up division from Malano, to his sorrow. "We shall watch from afar, and intervene if the battle goes ill."

"With Saradin and Tomas", Ashe conceded. "Do not present yourself to Gares openly- he may well recognize you." That was a quiet admission of their own limitations, and an effort to preserve the princes' life above all that he despised deeply.

For now though, there was nothing to be done with it. If what Rauny's new friends said was true he would be nothing but dead weight in such a fight. Struggling against the desire to contribute _something_ to it would be his sacrifice to make for the cause. With such high stakes, this was not the time to bicker.

More speed bumps made themselves known as the citadel drew closer, a more deliberate attempt to buy time. There was a wave of Wyverns, the mature form of Wyrm, then one of devil knights mixed with massive Titans. Though Hyone's pets were also imposing, Gilbert quickly acted to divert them into a separate duel and make way for the main group. Rauny, Zagan, Slust, Norn, Ara, Halla and Lyon all marched to the front gate, and the warrior princess screamed a challenge to Gares in her own language that made Tristan's heart writhe.

Just as Slust had done, a pair of dragons accompanied the Black Knight as he descended the citadel steps toward them. Two of the advanced red brood which the Sky Knight had ridden on his way here. That dragon was now dead from repeated ice spells by enemy mages, but these two looked fresh and ready to go. Zagan paled.

In between the two huge figures, Gares seemed to slump down in his armor. He had replaced much of it during their time apart, including a new helmet with taller horns that fairly shone with metalworking skill, and a purple cape in the place of the red he had worn on Avalon. The rest of the cosmetic changes followed the helmet's theme- sleeker, shinier, and especially meaner. Inside, he was still the same.

"Annoying", the glare behind his visor growled. "I go to all this trouble and the kid doesn't even show up. What a pain. Unless he's hiding behind one of you?"

"Our Lord Destin is saving his strength for our victory song", Ara Kestler spat. "A wretch such as you does not deserve his attention."

"A terrific soprano no doubt", the Black Knight chuckled. "In any case, you waste your time. A hundred men could not kill me, but I've killed men by the thousands."

"Hoping to amend that slogan, were you prince?", Slust replied, mayhap for the first time sounding truly, genuinely _angry_ since his release from Rashidi's charm spell. Even his friends quailed a bit. "Killed men, women and children by the _millions_. We know what you're doing and it won't work, human. Not while I'm breathing."

"Not while _any_ of us yet draw breath, sir Slust", Rauny corrected, stepping forward with her halberd already channeling lightning. "Pathetic. I truly cannot see a single remaining piece of the man I once loved... He shall be missed."

"Ah, nice to see you too princess", the Highland prince observed in their mutual language. There was no sign of any of his own lingering feelings for her. "But trust me, you're better off without that weakling." He changed stance, speaking in Zenobian again. "Alright folks, last chance- anyone here seen the kid? Destin Faroda? Anyone?"

Their silence was all the answer he needed. "Then make your peace with whatever Gods you believe in", he gloated, raising the familiar great axe in his left arm, beckoning with his right. "I hope he at least sees the results. All his friends dead. Gran's last remaining brat dead. The entire kingdom of Zenobia _dead_. All because he was too cowardly to show his face."

"We shall see", Zagan snarled, drawing his blade into the sunlight. "We know what's at stake. That is why we shall not fail. FIGHT IT OUT!"

Without speaking they divided into individual fronts. Slust broke off to handle the dragon on the left, while Rauny and Ara maneuvered against the one on the right. Three remaining fighters charged up the steps toward Gares, who obligingly leaped down to clash with them, cape flowing behind.

The opening salvo _was_ encouraging. Zagan could only grimace in satisfaction, proud that the long hours he had trained since Kalbi had brought him closer to the top swordsmen of the rebellion. Combined with the lashings of Lyon's whip and Halla's blasts of cold deadness, the Black Knight was at least _held_. With Norn behind them, most of the injuries Gares did inflict were glossed into a more manageable collection of cuts and bruises.

Then the prince shifted his stance, driving his two corporeal opponents back with a circular swing. Blocking a shot from the ghost with his right palm, he swung the left as he jumped, and Lyon felt the ground boil beneath his feet before throwing himself aside. Norn was slower and howled as the Evil Ring flared, but the continued healings from elsewhere meant she was still alive enough to carry on. Less encouraging was Zagan's leap from behind, an attempt to emulate Slust that ended with him being smashed hard into the stairwell of the citadel.

Then, as if they had all realized what from their previous encounter was missing at the same time, his power overtook them. Norn Dias leaped back from the aura, a combat reflex drilled into her by Slust.

But there was _nothing_. No axe strike or blast of energy to defend against. Instead she simply fell to the grass, a motion duplicated by all of the rebels to some degree.

Norn could not get up. The feelings of utter worthlessness and despair came on and filled her soul too quickly for her to realize the sensation was coming from someplace outside of her heart.

She shivered. Why get up? Chances were good Kaus was already dead. Even if he wasn't, they were doomed to die mortal deaths, either suffering the most grievous wound known to man or departing the world knowing they had given that wound to the one they cared about the most. She was nothing. A mote in the wind. She would die. All things would die. The world collapse upon itself in entropy, and after the world the stars, and after the stars, the universe. Why get up?

Galnam Lyon shivered too, almost too dazed to roll out of the way of the Black Knight's axe. The universe had proven its point to him and the Black Knight's aura had made that point clear enough for even a world-class dunce like himself to understand. He would never be number one at anything. Never. Never. Doomed to always trail behind another, eternally. No one in the world would even remember his name. Why labor in vain?

He was not alone. All across the battle zone, all the rebels' mightiest champions were falling to their knees, or fighting as though drugged as the new aura dulled their will to live. And though the surviving dragon appeared puzzled by this, Gares did not hesitate. His axe fell onto Zagan, two fast swipes enough to shatter his armor and cleave the flesh beneath. The tough knight did not scream.

"My power is that of the Dark. And the Dark is generous", Gares claimed, standing proudly over his first kill. "It is patient. It is the Dark which seeds cruelty into justice, that drips contempt into compassion, that poisons love with grains of doubt."

Clearly fighting against the aura, Slust charged from one side. Seeing the way the power slowed him, Gares sidestepped, blocked the blade, and charged to make the Sky Knight dodge... directly into a casting of the Evil Ring spell.

"The Dark can be patient, because the slightest drop of rain will cause those seeds to sprout."

The next strike bowled the red knight over, the one after that laying him flat on his back, unable to help as Gares advanced on Rauny's fallen body, ignoring the tiny pricks of damage Halla continued to rain down.

And the Black Knight smiled gleefully within his helmet, drawing back the axe. "The Dark's patience is _infinite_."

* * *

DEATH REALM ANTANJYL

Lans Hamilton felt his flesh pucker and nearly fell over. "Dying", he whispered fearfully to Destine. "They're dying. Or else on their way to the Thirteenth. I can _feel_ it. Something has happened."

"The rebellion", she confirmed, echoing the Angel Knight's concern. "They need their leader."

He looked back, almost fearful to behold what had become of the Destin he knew as his brother. The collection of duplicates had broken into an all-out brawl some hours ago. Some fought with dark magic, others with pure sword skill or holy power, but the 'real' one did not seem to notice or care. With half the copies dead, Lans dared saunter past them to grip the boy's chin.

"I killed her", he finally spoke once more. "With my own hands."

"Yes you did", Lans agreed, gaze unmoving. He did not need evidence to know he spoke truth. "And there shall come a time in which you shall be made penitent for that crime, sir Destin. But it is not yet too late to prevent a far worse one."

"Watch out", Destine warned him from behind, and he looked around for an attack. "You're going against your geas. There's some nasty side effects for doing that."

But he merely drew Destin's face closer, sliding his visor up. "So long as the Gods do not see fit to destroy Zenobia as compensation, I shall face the penalty bravely. Is that not what angel knights are supposed to do?"

"I wouldn't know. Still...", she watched as the beast-clad Destin fell and died. "...If you're right, we have to hurry. To rush, and yet not pressure too much."

"Screw_ that_!", a new voice intruded. Seeing the pink clothes and hat, Lans began to feel as though whatever nerves were used for being surprised were beginning to be worn into uselessness. Deneb Rhodes elbowed her way past the remaining impostors, taking the real one's face into both hands and kissing it most strongly.

Seething at the lack of reaction, she faced Lans. "Oh, wipe that look of your face Lansy-Pants. You really think I was gonna just let him go?"

"You may not have a choice", Destine pointed out. Under other circumstances, she might have been laughing at the sight. "The battle is not yet done. His fate's not yet been determined. 'Death' is yet intact." She pointed to the 'Emperor' Destin, who had been wounded but not killed.

Deneb blinked, apparently as surprised as Lans had been. He was glad to not be the only one stumbling on this. Nor the only one to be awed by the sight. "No way. These are... all fragments of his consciousness?"

"Possibly. There were twenty of them originally, pulling him in all directions."

"We can wait no longer", Lans chipped in upon seeing a Destin with Deneuvian skin tones perish. "The time is now, or never."

"IDIOT!", the witch burst out suddenly, slapping Destin hard. "All this effort and magical energy expended and you just sit there feeling sorry for yourself?"

"A valiant attempt, lady Rhodes", Lans remarked on the lack of reaction. No time, blast it. No time...

But the witch kept the hint of anger, close enough now that even had Destiny's Child gone deaf to all sound, he might yet read her pursed lips.

"You think you're the only one to go through this? Peh. You _would_- anything to make you feel 'special'."

"You're... wr... wrong", their friend slurred, standing from the onslaught his 'copies' had put him through. "I would give anything... anything... to just... be human."

"It's overrated", Deneb said, unmoving. "Trust me, I got bored of it in just a few decades. When was the last time you got bored of anything, Destin Faroda? Do you_ know_ just how lucky you are?"

"The lady speaks the truth, brother." Lans did not quite agree with everything she said, but now was not the time for them to quibble. "Father Zalas' efforts aside- and should his 'champion' have a say, those shan't amount to much- Zenobian children shall grow up dreaming of your legendary battles."

They were reaching him. Lans could tell, and the encouraging sign only helped them bring forth the words he now knew his brother needed to hear. "Do you consider those children to be insects? Are their sufferings not as great as your own? A man loses his loved ones to an unfeeling band of barbarians, is his pain any different from what Omicron attempted?"

"Thanks for that, by the way", the witch winked, reverting back to her casual self for a moment. "Didn't think you'd make it. Looks like even I'm not immune to the crazy drugs those jerks were using."

"There, you see? That pain was what moved you, compelled you to cross the boundaries of Death to be with her! DESTIN!"

Kalanbolg flashed out. For the second time in as many days Lans wondered if his friend's mind had gone to a place where he truly could not follow. But that thought was mercifully swift; the blade was targeted at the figure who had been running toward Lans from behind. The 'Emperor' Destin, intent on driving his weapon through the man's heart.

And with that single strike, the twisted reflection stopped, breaking into fragments and blowing away in the grips of an intangible wind. They were alone, the four of them. Suddenly the white space seemed a great deal more mind-wracking but for the moment it did not matter.

"That's the ticket", Deneb joked once they were sure of what they had witnessed. "Turns out there _is_ something that can get you to stop killing yourself over your mistakes."

"You", Destin heaved as though still in a stupor. "It's _you_. That is my..."

"Our reason", Destine picked up for him, stepping between them. "Our _heart_. The thing that prevents us from being a mere blank slate of a weapon. For everything that's happened, we still care about these two, and those others whom we have met on our quest."

"Yes." Their charge slowly rose. "Yes. That's right. I feel it. It hurt so bad I wanted to deny it, but..."

"That was Rowdain Figaro's path", his counterpart echoed. "And Gares Endora's. And Rashidi Light's. The heart of stone can seem indomitably strong from the outside. But a heart of flesh and blood can persevere where all else fails. Nothing can break it."

"You _do_ care for this world, Destin", Deneb backed away, showing silent support. "I _know_ you do, no matter how much you want to pretend not to give a damn. And now you know why."

"Fear not the future", Lans took up the course, deciding on the spur of the moment not to include Warren Moon in his words. "Fear only the lack of decision. No foresight is certain. And so long as we live, the visions we have beheld shall not come to pass. Gilbert, Master Walf, Captain Ashe, miss Aisha, and Norn... They are all waiting for your return. We are your heart, brother. We are your home. We believe."

Their charge stood. He had The Look, the glow, back in his eyes. Though he did not move with the swiftness Lans knew him capable of, he could already tell his brother had at last returned from a darker place than Antanjyl might ever dream of. "Any place can be a home", he quoted, regarding all three with the deepest of gratitude. "For whatever fate is written, we must face it."

"We shall. Together."

"That's right", Destine beamed at their reunion. "Don't forget, not every ending to the story is a tragedy. It's completely up to you how this all ends. _That's _why you are Destiny's Child."

"Funny", Destin nodded back. "These past few weeks I've felt closer to the 'Child' part than the 'Destiny' part." Blinking once more, he looked around as if noticing their surroundings for the very first time. "I assume there's a logical explanation for all this?"

"Not a logical one", Lans said. He could not help but smile. _ This_ was the Destin he knew and loved as a younger brother.

"Your second joke ever, Lans! Well done. You forgot to call me 'sir' though."

Deneb rolled her eyes, trying to draw attention from the way her hands had drifted to their shoulders. "_Boys_. You never change. Much as I hate to say it, we _do_ need to start thinking of a way out of here. Antanjyl's a nasty piece of work all right. I'm not even sure how deep we've gone now."

That brought the angel knight back to chilling reality. Truly, the empty plain might be enough to break the sanity of one who attempted to cross it alone. There was no sign of where it began or ended. Where was the frozen land of ghosts, and where was their world? Was this a deeper level of the nether than even Galf's kingdom of lost souls? He had lost track.

Only Destine remained calm. "I think that's why I'm here. To guide you. Antanjyl shan't easily part with souls which wander into its grasp."

"Then it _does_ have a brain." Deneb looked thrilled. "My theory was bang-on!"

"Something akin to one, yes", the other woman acknowledged. "But it is yet sluggish. Galf controlled it for a very long time, longer than any of us have lived."

"We must leave", her counterpart stepped forward, his old strength returned to him. "You feel it too, don't you? A million violent deaths on the horizon of time, something that Antanjyl and Galf welcomes most dearly. It is not their time."

"No", she agreed. "It is not. Follow me then. Follow me if you are brave, and see where it is your path shall lead..."

* * *

SKY ISLE SHANGRILA

Prince Tristan had not experienced Gares Endora's aura until now. He could not imagine why the sudden change had occurred, or how his comrades in the first wave were suddenly fighting like marionettes with their strings cut.

That curious lethargy had already cost them Zagan and Ara's lives, and all the rest had taken heavy injuries before he had decided to risk Rauny's wrath over the risk of her death. Though Slust the Red had maintained a good deal of strength, Gares had known this as well, and made it his number one priority to keep the Sky Knight occupied or too injured to fight back effectively as they dueled.

Then Saradin Carm had gotten permission to let loose a mighty burst of ice shards towards the remaining dragon which left it motionless, following up with a cyclone that dashed it into a hundred crystalline shards. Fenril of Ice charged in as well, with Tristan, Lyon and his pets comprising the second wave.

The aura did not strike them right away. Rather, it was as though a stationary miasma of poison that they slipped into gradually, not realizing something was wrong until they felt the effects beginning. Taking full advantage of it, Gares' axe cleaved the neck of Lyon's dragon before wheeling about to block a thrust from Fenril and casting her aside with the other hand.

"Prince Tristan", the Black Knight had time to recognize with a start. "Lord Fireseal. I was always curious about that little rumor."

He fell back after a handful of spark-ridden clashes. "You knew I was alive all this time?"

"Of course." The visor remained maddeningly impassive, but the prince could sense Gares' sneer as he dodged a spell from Saradin and fired back with Evil Ring. "Didn't you _know_? You owe the kid your miserable little life!"

He wasn't sure what to make of that, and before long it did not matter to him. Exhaustion compounded the effects, and his reactions dulled to the point where his foe could easily knock the blade from his hands, leaving him free to concentrate on the real heavy-hitters.

"Your efforts are pointless!", he shouted again some time later, barely registering to Tristan but loud and clear to an enraged Fenril. "Any time now the Chock shall break. This island shall fall and destroy all those who dared to dream of disobeying their Emperor!"

"You are mad!", the blue Sky Knight hissed between lunges. "You are like the Ogres of old, a devouring singularity of life and hope!"

"Then I have accomplished my own dream!" Slash, parry, spark, lunge... Laugh. "I have surpassed my human origin! Destroying every limitation that might hold me back from true glory! I am become a God!"

"Keep telling yourself that, prince", the other standing rebel remarked. Saradin, this time firing off a barrage of the orange ghost heads emblematic of Destin's_ Phantom_ spell. "You can compare grandoise speeches with the number of other idiots who've said that across the millenia."

With the Highland prince slowed by his duel with Fenril, he could not evade. The ghost heads swarmed about, half-shrieking half-whistling before descending onto their target and enveloping him in a cloud.

Fenril leaped back panting hard. The cloud of life-hungry ghosts dissipated...

And Gares Endora was yet standing. Shrugging at the way the two of them gaped. "Some of us actually learn from our previous battles, Saradin Carm. A being born of the Dark has nothing to fear from it."

Saradin then noticed that Halla was _gone_. Gares had absorbed the ghost along with the spell. Such an act might have even healed the wounds he had received, if the way he sprang at Fenril was any indication. Cursing, he fired off a cloud of acid, then a wall of fire, until-

He stopped, leaning down upon his cane. He could see it now. Whatever power Gares had acquired had shown him the Truth. Rashidi Light had always dominated his career as a sorcerer. With the Sage's betrayal, he could no more be considered trustworthy by the people than his ex-master.

With good reason. He knew his master's prowess with magic. How could he ever say for certain that Rashidi had not planted some kind of hidden curse on him during their time together, perhaps one that would turn him against the rebellion at a crucial moment? No man could truly trust a wizard. He was a potential time bomb. Rashidi's touch would always be with him, haunting his existence no matter how many lives he saved, no matter how many cities he worked to rebuild. There was only one escape. To end his existence, and the pain which it brought.

He spent a time suspended in the nightmare that way, only watching Fenril's battle from the most clinical point of view. Both were skilled fighters, he knew. Perhaps two of the best this era of the world had ever known. But Fenril faced an assault on two fronts instead of one, and after several desperate minutes of back and forth the axe struck her sword hand off to fall into a gap of sky. Divine blood spilled out upon the grass. _Unstoppable... He's... Unstoppable..._

"How...?", came a whisper from beneath a crushed pillar. Rauny Vinzalf, beaten and kept weak by Gares' aura but not entirely out yet. "How can a human...?"

"Limitations, my dear", the prince repeated proudly. Defeating Fenril only reinforced his notion that he was invincible now. "Limitations added to all humans at a young age. Compassion makes you hesitate. Fear for yourself and for others makes your blows less efficient. Limitations that the path of the Black Knights helps to rid you of." Kneeling down, he tilted his helmet as if curious. "I might yet show you this wonderful path, princess, if you are willing to obey me."

She worked up the energy to spit on his visor, but no more came after that. Gares withdrew in revulsion but did not betray anger at Rauny.

"As you wish- don't tell me you didn't enjoy it at the time... Just remember, all of you, the enlightenment that my new aura has granted you on this day. Remember always that if that kid had lifted a finger to help you, all of your lives, and all those below us, might have been spared." He raised the axe high, getting ready for the biggest Evil Ring yet. "_Remember!_"

"Remember! The child who defeated you!"

Ten heads froze. Twenty eyes stared in wonderment, none of them entirely free of the notion that this was all a hallucination brought on by battle stress or too much ale at night.

Gares lowered the axe, whatever shock he felt masked by the horned helmet. "Finally, you come. I've been trying to get your attention for many days now."

The new figure leaped from his perch on the hill, and began circling the Black Knight, who quickly began to do the same. "Apologies. We were slightly occupied. Had I known you orchestrated all of this for my sake, or that the Sky Islands truly existed in such a form, I might have responded sooner."

"It's no matter. All that matters is you are here now. So that I can at last undo my mistake."

The figure paused a moment as if confused. "Your mistake? _Yours_? Whatever happened to 'you just made the biggest mistake of your life, kid'?" When Gares did not respond, he dared go a step further. "Yes, I _do_ remember that day, however vaguely. Seeing you again brought it forth. It nearly destroyed me, you know."

"I as well", the Black Knight digressed, remembering the mindless killing frenzy that had overtaken Destin at Avalon, nearly caused his own death. "But that's in the past. You were lucky."

"I was what I am. Nothing more, and nothing less."

This was just too much arrogance, and Gares dug his greaves into the soil in preparation, a savage tiger ready to pounce.

"Kid... No no; _Destin Faroda_. You are nothing more than what _I made you_. Before the eyes of everyone you care about, I shall un-make you. Everyone lying broken and bloody here shall hear your bones shatter and cry out to you in a glorious chorus of despair; The prelude to the calamity that shall solidify my place in the pantheon of the Ogres. And YOU, Destiny's Child, shall KNOW that this fate is certain in the final moment of thy Death... Let's GO."

* * *

A/N: Musing time again. Doing revision you notice things, like how boastful both Gares Endora and Galf come across in this chapter. Galf is just telling it like it is, but Gares is deliberately that way. Hopefully the way I've written him, his 'despair' powers and his latest mission make him seem seriously scary instead of hammy since in the game he's by and large the most **evil** character in the game, and the boss you fight more often than any other- 4 times in total, this being the second one. By the 4th time he's kind of a joke.

On the subject of villains, someone remarked on the appearance of the Zodiac stones. Early on I knew I wanted to give the story a spiritual connection to Ivalice in the Final Fantasy Tactics-verse. If you'll look back a few chapters, both Deneb and Baron Apros mention the far-off nation of Ivalice. In the game Apros is a rich human governor who somehow becomes a giant in battle, a unique class you can never get called a 'Vanity' that is fairly powerful and fights alongside 4 red-skinned demons, so I used the Zodiac Stones in the game as the transformation method, like that of the Zodiac Braves.

Oh, and he's not the only Vanity you fight in the game, won't be the only one in the story either. )


	23. The Rebellion

**Disc: **Ogre Battle is the property of Enix.

* * *

**The Rebellion**

* * *

**Tarot XXI - The World**

_The Fool turns to take that final step along his path, and finds, to his bemusement that he is right back where he started, at the edge of that very same cliff he almost stepped over when he was young and too foolish to look where he was going. _

_But now he sees his position very differently. He thought he could separate body and mind, learn all about one, then leave it to learn about the other. But in the end, it is all about self, mind and body, past and future, the individual, and the world. _

_All are one. As above, so below, and all opposites are each other, including the Fool and the Mystic who are both doorways to the secrets of the universe. With a knowing smile, the Fool takes that final step right off the cliff...and soars. Higher and higher, until the whole of the world is his to see. And there he dances, surrounded by stars, at one with the universe. Ending, in a sense, where he began, beginning again at the end. The world turns, and the Fool's journey is complete. _

* * *

CASTLE ZENOBIA

Everywhere in the cities around the capital, families would be greeting the sun of a new day with more hope for the future than they had held for nigh twenty-five summers. Men, women and children would all give their prayers and thanks to the Twenty-Two and manage a shoestring diet- often a literal one in the slums- with a strangely vibrant enthusiasm before heading off to work or to the new school being built near the Roshian temple.

Not one of them could imagine that in mere hours, all of these feelings might end, along with all of their lives.

"He's returned", Warren Moon stared down at the tarot arrangement on his table, aghast. "He's back in the game."

And there it was in his trembling hands- the World card, right-side up at the end of the reading. Destiny's Child had only returned from months of stasis, but would soon be leading the battle to determine the world's future. _If he survives_, the seer noted, gazing back at the reversed Death card in the middle. The Thirteenth was closer now than ever it had been.

"You did well", he spoke to the empty air, feeling rejuvenated. "Yes, I think this shall be the best way to do it even if he does continue along the road of 'Death' or 'Tower'. 'Hanged Man' would serve the world just as well, in the end."

The air stirred the trees outside, not exactly speaking to him in words, but sensations. Gratitude to Deneb Rhodes and Lans Hamilton for their help. A regret that the breeze would not see the future of this world come to pass.

"I promise you", Warren bowed. "I can no longer remain so withdrawn out of fear. For good or ill, Destin shall save this world from the fires of Ogre Battle. Only time shall tell if he ever forgives _me_, but I must try. Go now, Empress Destine Earwind. Your task is done."

Keeping to his word, he fled the seer's tower, descending to the outside foyer where a dozen personnel were gathered in their confusion. Following their gaze, Warren blanched. In all his readings he had not seen the massive threat just outside his window.

The colossal shelf of rock hovered over them, barely visible through the clouds but undeniably the biggest flying object any of them had ever seen. Even from this distance the gaping breach in the clouds was evident as a scar in the heavens, and the knights too confused and frightened to act on it.

"Well?" He rapped Captain Solian's knuckles with his staff. "What are you idiots all waiting for, _Lughnasa_? Evacuate this city, NOW!"

Solian only looked more confused. Like sir Neralai he was skilled in the ways of enforcement and little else, no doubt part of why he'd been chosen to hold the fort while the rest went out to fight the Empire. "Sage Warren...? What is that?"

Looking back at it, he let out an exasperated chuckle. "Honestly, I don't know. But I sense evil power coming from it. I doubt they're friendly. Better safe than sorry, yes?"

That got him into action- the last thing the knight captain wanted was to be too late to avert the next crisis befalling Zenobia after how easily Omicron's cult had made off with Deneb, and for all his lack of wits he was good at yelling in a way so as to reach everyone in the castle and get the majordomo moving as well. It was simply his way.

"They can't escape", a new voice called to Warren from the shadows. "They can't outrun it. Not nearly in time."

Warren went very still and waited two breaths. Just enough time to make the intruder wonder how his reception was going to go, then turned, fired off a dancing fork of lightning into the wall the voice had come from. The stone surface was burned and twisted into black ash , but there was no sign of his target.

"How rude", Rashidi Light spoke again, emerging from the shadows as though he'd become one with them, his distinctive armour slowly restoring itself to the brighter orange colour from darkness. "As one Sage visiting another, I'm appalled."

"Enough pretense", the Moon Sage snarled, glad that no one else was here to see them like this. "Are you here for a reason, traitor, or are you just here to gloat?"

He dropped the fake smile as requested. "I haven't anything to do with _that_, if that's what you're thinking. It was Prince Gares' scheme, to try and lure out Destiny's Child. It appears to have worked- I can sense his power from here, though it has changed a great deal since I last saw him."

"But it's your fault", Warren maintained, looking back at the flying shelf of rock that was Shangrila. "You found those, didn't you?"

"Necessary", his former friend maintained. "Necessary for our plans."

"_Your_ plans", the seer said coldly. "Our interests diverged the moment you sent your pet butcher to destroy the council of Sages."

But the Sage of Light remained infuriatingly reasonable for someone who had brought down so much pain and death on his native land. "That was a foolish thing to say, Warren Moon. Did you not specifically create Destiny's Child so that he would be able to mold this heathen world in our favour? So that if-_if_ he was successful, people everywhere would worship him as the new messiah? And make whatever changes you, his mentor, asked?"

Eventually there was a barely visible nod of the head, shadowed by the hood. But Rashidi merely smiled, predatory.

"Then our goals _are_ still the same. Who is more devoted to restoration of the Gods' kingdom than Rashidi? Everything that I have created or destroyed in the past hundred years was done with the end goal of reconnecting our people with the Twenty-Two. The others simply failed to see that, and so they had to be eliminated."

"We were your friends, Light". He knew the accusation sounded ridiculous coming from a Sage, but the decades-old hurt was bursting from within his chest. "We had the same goals!"

"But onlytwo of us were willing to do whatever was necessary to see them through and create a new world. You and I. The Moon, and the Light... Even back then, I knew you to be the most levelheaded and practical of our number, Warren Moon. Boltrano, Ishtar, Gizolfy... None of them could understood how the common folk were distancing themselves from us, and from those whom we served. They thought mere words from us could change things. But at the end of the day it was King Gran Zenobia, not us, who truly held power over the people."

Every word from those flowing dark lips sounded perfectly reasonable. And Warren hated himself for listening to them.

"Now this weapon you've created, concentrating all of the power and worship into a single being... It was ingenious of you, though plagiarist. I do hope he wins this time."

He looked back into that hateful bearded face, for once too confused to remember his fury. "You hope that he defeats Gares? Your chosen champion? Your pet butcher?"

"He's a tool", the other Sage said harshly of the Highland prince. "And like Destiny's Child, he's clearly grown out of control. It would be quite difficult to convince the people of Zenobia to follow the Gods again when _there aren't any people left alive to convince_. Gares plans to destroy this kingdom. I wish to save it."

It only took a few breaths for him to understand. He gasped, gripped his heart in shock, but Rashidi looked genuinely impressed. "Even_ I_ lost my temper when I realized what that _idiot_ planned to do with the Isle Shangrila. As I said, you were always the most levelheaded one, Moon."

"But this cannot be permitted", Warren managed to whisper over his heart pounding. Why? Why had the Arcana not shown him the slightest hint of this? "Gares must be stopped!"

"Indeed." The traitor looked strangely sombre, looking up at the approaching doom in the sky. "I would stop him myself, but with so many rebels fighting up there we'd more than likely end up fighting each other while the prince laughed and dropped Shangrila on all your heads. A pity they don't listen to you anymore, or I could take you. No... For once, it's all down to your creation. He's in the deep water now- let us pray he floats."

* * *

SKY ISLAND SHANGRILA

Standing atop a precipice, Lans Hamilton and Deneb Rhodes watched as their friend moved against the Black Knight Gares. Though the former moved to help, the latter motioned to hold him back.

"I sense the prince's power even from here", Lans protested. "He has expanded greatly since last we met. His aura of fear has become one of despair, far stronger and larger." Looking across the citadel glade and seeing any number of dead bodies, he shivered at the thought of how that fight might have gone. "T'was enough to defeat our allies."

"This is Destin's fight", the witch explained quietly, for once devoid of her usual humour. "It's why we brought him back. We both know his past, and it's not every day someone with that kind of background gets a chance to set things right. Leave him be, Lansy-pants. We'll step in if things go pear-shaped."

That reassurance was enough to satisfy him for now. Below them, Gares seemed to be testing the waters with a few lazy swipes that Destin caught with his single sword. Falling back with the force of the last one, he dropped down near Slust's groaning form, perhaps yet the most lively of the first wave's survivors. "I ask to borrow your weapon, sir knight of the skies."

"Urgh... Feel free", the red-armoured angel croaked. "Hey. Are you...?"

"Destiny's Child", he confirmed, taking the longer sword and taking a few practice swings before Gares approached. "I could tell you would understand. Not exactly a role model angel, are you Slust the Red?"

If Slust was surprised he showed none of it, merely rolling over and waving a hand. "Heh. It's a living. Someone has to counterbalance Fenny's stone-cold act."

"That would be the chill I feel directed at me", he noted without looking over at the blue Sky Knight. "No matter."

With those words so casually uttered, no one was expecting the sudden lunge at Gares, both swords working in tandem- as they had against Debonair- but faster. Anything the Black Knight's axe did not catch was mostly blunted by his armour, and when Destin finally drove a strike home at the left leg his enemy merely laughed and kicked him into a citadel pillar with it.

"I am no longer that weakling you met on Avalon, kid", the Highland prince boasted mid-charge, axe flashing in the Zenobian morning as he leaped. "This time we finish it!"

Wordlessly, Destin dodged, rolling aside to let the pillar fall, and released the_ Iainuki_. When that only seared a narrow fissure into the spiked armour, he followed up by bringing both weapons down. Somehow suspended in midair as he hacked away at the enemy's defences, only when the sign of the Evil Ring came down did he flee.

"I keep trying to tell them!", Gares said with a theatrical shrug of pauldrons. "I've thrown off the last of my limits. I hold the power of the Ogres! I am strength given form! You cannot hurt me!"

Surging forward as if all the injuries the others had given him meant nothing, he drove Destin back easily. Even a blocked hit caused him to stagger back in a hail of sparks, and a single missed chop could take away an arm or neck. By swinging in a certain, deliberate way, he could even displace the air like Figaro had done, generating shockwaves that would not maim, but buffet and badly disorient any who were struck by them.

And Destin was eventually disoriented in just that way, stunned long enough for the axe to rake his side before he could roll away. "Ha! First blood!"

For five minutes or more the two played this deadly game, Destin the mouse and Gares the eager cat, ignoring every scrape Destin risked death to put on him and destroying every bit of terrain that separated them. Finding himself back in the clearing where Rauny had defeated one of the red dragons, Destin finally stopped, dropping his guard as if in surrender before recrossing the two blades over one another, concentrating.

But the Black Knight was not worried by this sight. "Go ahead kid", he chuckled mirthlessly. "Use that_ Phantom s_pell_._ I could use something from the Dark to help mend all these little paper cuts."

"DESTIN!", came the cry from a nearby hilltop Saradin Truthsayer struggling to stand and speak. "NO! Don't do it! He'll just absorb that spell and become even stronger!"

But it was too late- even non-magical eyes could make out the gathering of power at the place where Destin's swords were crossed. Shangrila was not the haven of ley lines one might expect of the heavens, but that would make little difference when the powerful spell's energies were turned into-

"_Frost of Niflheim, shatter the passion of frozen hearts! _ _ICECLOUD!"_

The spell was_ not_ Phantom. It was not a spell anyone there had witnessed before, though Saradin recognized its roots in the chant which generated the Blizzard spell favoured by the Nixies, most powerful leaders of the merfolk. However, the differences made themselves apparent as well; a storm of tiny, pencil-thin lines of glowing ice instead of a buffeting of thick snow driving into Gares' armour and penetrating with a barrage of loud cracks.

This was no Phantom. It ravaged the land around Gares like no spell Destiny's Child had ever performed, and not even the Black Knight could hide how much it wounded him.

Not that he didn't try- not the slightest gasp escaped that enclosed helmet, and he snarled his reply: "_Endless abyss of devouring darkness, feast upon thy eternal wrath! EVIL RING!"_

This, Saradin figured, was the more powerful version of the spell Gares had been ready to use before being interrupted before. The ring of sickly yellow light now covered the entire clearing, and Destin ran fast to grab Norn Dias' prone body to get them both out in time. By that time, the Black Knight had shed the frost spikes covering him and resumed the more direct offensive.

Only once did Destin manage to whip Slust's blade past such an assault, and that was checked by spiked pauldrons in the way. Catching the counterblow was enough to knock him off his feet and force him to roll again to dodge the next one. Lans almost could not watch, had to be physically restrained by Deneb in the fear that the next chop would take his brother's head from his shoulders...

But it did not. Too late, Gares saw that his foe was suddenly rolling _towards_ him instead of away, and that the roll transformed into a low lunge at his chest level. Kalanbolg stuck fast inside the heavy metal plates and for a moment the Black Knight laughed in triumph.

"_Iainuki!"_

There was a flash of pale blue light and _now_ Gares screamed. The front plate of his armour fell away smoking, and only a reflexive swing kept Destin from gouging even deeper before the enemy leaned away, cursing up a storm.

"YOU...!", he gritted out, one hand covering the wound. "HOW?"

Falling back to the ruined stairs, Destin relaxed his guard an inch and spoke formally for the first time since they had begun. "I told you. You are who you are. You cannot stop being Gares Endora, or rather, you have no desire to."

These words only enraged the Black Knight further, and the speed with which he ripped his axe free of the ground dispelled any notions that the duel was over. "Make sense, damn you!"

His enemy shrugged. "Very well. One of the only rumours about me that was ever true was my ability to see into the hearts of others and understand their motivations, thus recruiting those willing into the rebellion. In other words empathy, not destiny, is my true gift."

Perhaps seeking to take advantage of Gares expecting more words, he lunged forward with newfound speed, driving the parrying axe back and speaking even as they continued trying to kill each other.

"But every motivation began to look the same to me as I became more versed in my talent. I began to look upon my people as simple collections of buttons and knobs for me to push. And knowing their weaknesses, I believed myself to have none. That was my gravest mistake- it nearly drove me mad. Nearly made me like _you_, Gares Endora."

The prince fell back either from the revelations or the increased strength Destin was putting into each exchange between them. Had this kid been holding back before? No. It was impossible. No one could be as strong as he. He was GARES, the mightiest warrior in all the Highlanders, inheritor of the legendary Ogres' gifts-

"Then something happened. I cannot be certain, but like you, my gift has now reached_ completion_. I can see into your heart, Gares Endora. I can see into your past. Such sorrow you have known. Your father. The way your mother treated you after his death to illness. Your resolve on that day to become stronger, to destroy your heart so that you would never have to feel that way again... It's all laid bare to me now, both enemy and friend."

"Shut up!" Another wide swing rocked the clearing, gouging the earth where it missed its target. "You don't know a damned thing about me!"

"But I do. I now know the first memory which we _shared_. The one which you locked me up, tortured me for the fear of it getting out. The one which Warren blocked from my mind in decades past. Would you like to hear it?"

Gares was now past legibility, releasing growls of inhuman rage with every swing, driving his prey out of the clearing and into the surrounding settlement. Once populated by the seraphim of Shangrila, the simple structures had been long left vacant, fleeing the 3rd legion's dragons. All the better, since every missed axe strike now levelled a hut or granary. Before long fully half the town lay in ruins, but both men still stood and fought.

"Of course not", Destin continued, releasing an _Iainuki _with both weapons to drive his foe back. "We both already know what happened that day when Zenobia fell. Because I _know_ you, Endora. As well as though I had lived your life myself. And when you know someone so well, I can no more fail to anticipate you than I could my own muscle movements."

"Big talk, Faroda", the Black Knight grunted, saying Destin's name for the first time. "Anticipate THIS."

Leaping clear, he drew the axe to the sky as if casting a spell. No Evil Ring came forth, though. _"__Blossom, O fallen seed, and draw upon thy hidden power! FREYA! Grant unto thee the power of the glorious Mother of Destruction!__"_

"The Embrace of Freya", Deneb whispered with wide eyes, releasing Lans and nodding to Rauny. "Stang. I thought only the Deva could use that- this guy's no worshipper of Freya! He's a thug, worships the Ogres!"

Reality did not care that the normally-jubilant witch was suddenly taking this much more seriously. More of the town was obliterated, and through its ruins came a streak of midnight black one might only guess to be Gares, impacting Destin's weapons over and over until Kalanbolg shattered into still-sparking fragments.

Without missing a beat Destin shifted his grip on the remaining weapon, releasing the weaker but faster variant of the 'Icecloud' spell periodically to buy some breathing room. Bleeding out from a dozen ice punctures, the Black Knight continued on heedlessly, screaming, deafened to the pain by the power he had called yet somehow lucid enough to keep a hawkish guard on his chest where the plating had been blasted off.

Two minutes after that, Slust's weapon sparked dangerously and Gares, encouraged, shifted his own hand into a double-grip for more raw power. "Just a little longer", he whispered more to himself than Destin. "Longer... and you DIE."

"You could not kill me when I was _four years old_", the rebel leader gasped back, vision greying out from the strain but equally determined not to quit. "You could not do it on Avalon. You shall_ not_ win here."

"You're just a kid." Break, slash, dodge, roll, parry... "Just a snot-nosed, punk KID!"

"Then you are undone by an infant." Drawn back into parry range, he allowed Gares a long clash of weapons where they could merely push and stare at each other across them. He smiled wickedly, possibly for the first time since the battle of Balmorra. "Don't you 'kid' me, Endora. I felt every lash you gave me back then, every bit of scorn, the pain every time you broke one of my bones and let it heal for your sick trials to become a Black Knight... And I felt your growing fear of me even then."

They broke apart, Destin being cast away into a cliff with his armour blunting the impact, and exchanged spells of darkness and ice against almost as an afterthought. The cliff was eroded by the Evil Ring and then shattered by the next big swing like so many other small bits of scenery Destin had noticed even while dodging around, feeling every move before the prince could make it. Coming around, he caught the axe's pommel with one hand and stabbed down with the other between arm plates.

"What...?", his foe coughed once at this new tear in his armour. Twice. His breath was weak. He could barely stand.

"Destiny's Child", he reminded him, keeping his distance once more. "You became too accustomed to the Embrace's power surge. Not even realizing that it was wearing off, nor the massive toll it takes on your body the longer you use it. Thus... you lose. Do you believe in me now?"

"What...?" The prince thrashed and snarled, but all he could accomplish with such a weight on him was keeping his foe at a distance, which for now suited him just fine- the prince was not the only one running out of steam. "WHAT...?"

"Here's some food for thought", he began again, blade pointed forward. "I told you about my gift, and how a great deal of the time I was using it without realizing it. This gift brought me _Einjerhar_ Ara Kestler, Wind Rider Canopus Walf, and Beast Master Gilbert Oblion, and many more allies. It allowed me to befriend the undead your massacre created decades ago in the Pogrom Forest... But that was not the only manipulation."

The Black Knight froze, axe on guard but for once shocked into silence by that declaration. "You're bluffing!"

"I am_ guessing_", he corrected. "Whether destiny or empathy it was Warren Moon who recognized my gift through his Tarot. As I said before, that power changed me as it began to awaken. I shunned my allies, turned on my friends who were only trying to help me... And then, Albeleo Kaisse came along, using his human-golems as a way to destroy my will to fight. It was like a bucket of cold water in my face. My grief nearly destroyed me."

"Heh. Weakling", Gares laughed, ignoring his own helplessness. "Any point to you telling me all this, kid?"

"Just this." He leaned closer, sword slowly pressing the axe down, void of expression as the black helmet he faced. "What if I told you that, had I continued on my path, I might have become just as horrible an Emperor as you? What if I had needed that shock to knock me off the destructive path? _What if Albeleo was helping me escape that looming fate, without either us even realizing it?"_

"Enough!" The prince raised one hand in protest, not wanting to comprehend what Destin was telling him. "It doesn't matter how you came back, or how you've been ignoring my aura this whole time! All that matters now is how you DIE!"

Dropping the axe, he raised the other hand up to the same spot, and suddenly Destin blanched from the aura. "I am not limited to despair or fear", Gares laughed to cover another cough. "I am an OGRE, kid, reborn into the body of a human. Suffering... heheh... suffering is my life's blood. I can make you bleed. I can make you _hurt_...!"

But the reaction did not last nearly long enough for him to pick up the axe and finish the job- Destin stood. He burned with the pain but was not consumed by it. He took one step forward. "Nothing here that you didn't do to me when I was only a child. Just as my overseers, whatever Deity they may be, _manipulated_ you into doing, to help them to create the perfect divine weapon."

"No...", his foe panted, finally realizing the truth. Every truth his enemy had been spitting into his face. "NO!"

Terror such as Gares had never known blossomed from within him. It fed his power with adrenalin, getting him back to his feet and intensifying the aura further. The pain did not quite reduce Destin to a quivering blob of jelly begging for death, but it did hold him immobile for a killing stroke. Helpless before the axe, which the prince reclaimed, blasting the boy off his feet with the first swing.

"All that", he gloated, leaving imprints with each boot as he stomped forward, savouring each crack he made in the soil, "and the 'perfect divine weapon' cannot stand against the great Dark. You're good, kid... Maybe the best Zenobian warrior ever. But the facts are the facts, and a weakling is still a weakling. _Geine-wohl!_"

The axe swung down, but stopped inches from Destin's face. Another sword had lodged itself between steel and flesh, attached to the grim form of Lans Hamilton standing off to the side.

"Sir Destin is my brother", he said. "You shall not slay him while I yet draw breath."

Grimacing, he drove one mailed fist across to crush the angel knight's head in... but a fireball blew it off course and left his palm twitching. "Forgot about us, abomination?", Saradin Carm's dusty voice mocked him.

"We were all feeling a bit left out", Deneb's voice called out as well, preluding a stun cloud that left the Black Knight reeling and clutching at his helmet. "Can we play too?"

Though he had not been present at the start of the battle, Canopus Walf's Thunder attack was unmistakable as it struck one horn, making its target cry out in rage. "This is our ancestral home, Highlander. Your attempts to destroy it- and to destroy my friend- sicken me."

He might have been able to swing the axe back around and take Lans' head off if Gilbert's and Lyon's whips had not both wrapped themselves around the pommel, preventing any swift forward motion. "Destin saved each of us from pits of despair which prevented us from following our hearts. It is his _present_, not anything in his past, which truly matters."

The familiar glow of healing magic descended, and to Gares' dismay it was _not _one of the 3rd legion's healers coming to his aid, but young Aisha Forris. "You murdered my mother, Gares", she called in barely pent-up rage. "You're not taking Destin too. _Never._ Not after all he's done for us."

Helped up by Aisha and Norn, Destiny's Child stood. He yet remained weak- many of his injuries were on the inside, not the outside. But in the last raising of Slust's blade the prince could see more than enough remaining energy to gather, chant and release one more Icecloud- the biggest one yet.

"_Frost of Niflheim, bestow Justice's fair chill! The burning moment breaks, all things else are out of mind, and the joy of battle takes thee by the throat, and leaves thee blind! We shall shatter the passion of frozen hearts! ICECLOUD!" _

Such a long incantation would have been impossible against an active enemy, but again the Black Knight found every movement stymied- Prince Tristan's long blade bursting forth from a ruined granary to knock his swing aside. A blast of light to the face from Lans, accompanied by the buffeting snow of the more common Blizzard spell cast by Saradin. Finishing his own spell, Destin returned to leaning on Aisha, weary but more triumphant than he had ever looked before.

"Your fear and despair holds no more power over any of us Gares Endora, last of the accursed Knights of Black. We are your opposite. We are your negative. A Black Knight without the helpless to torment has no purpose; Begone!"

He might not have heard it over the gradual hardening of the ice spikes which had pelted him like raindrops, but they all heard the man's last cry of defiance as the spikes drove him over the edge of the island. Rushing to the cliffside as one unit, the rebels lost sight of Gares' body once it fell into a cloud bank far below. They breathed a collective sigh of relief regardless.

"He's gone", Aisha was the first to find her voice again, whispering. "Really, truly gone... Mother is avenged."

"Don't be so certain, miss Aisha", Gilbert stared into the endless blue as if hoping to see some sign of their enemy. "Rage and hate are the self-sustaining loop of the Dark which gives Gares his great strength; so long as that endures, it shall be quite difficult for any mortal hand to ever rid this world of him. Even a fall such as this is no guarantee."

"Because y'know, what we just did to him was _such_ a walk in the park", Deneb quipped. "Ah, whatever. Dead or alive, we won't be seeing that jerk's ugly mug again for a long while, and good riddance to him." Turning to the rest, she saw recognition of the past begin to return, two rebel groups which had once been one, then three.

"No doubt we all have much talk about", Lans offered after a stretch of silence. "But I think we might all understand if this waited until we are certain that this island shan't be destroying Zenobia."

Slowly nodding, they returned to the citadel. One group once more, united in victory.

* * *

CASTLE VALHALLA, MALANIAN TUNDRA

The afternoon sun, a bright point of light in the otherwise desolate landscape due south of the capital, roused Archangel Mizal from rest. Noises of battle pierced the gloom of her chambers, and it had been a very long time since she had slept well or long.

Emerging into the grand hall of the now-defunct castle the late government of Malano had established, she was just in time to see an Imperial soldier stagger in through the main doors, bleeding heavily and followed by snowflakes. After several prolonged attempts to restore his fading life, Mizal turned her head away. _Even here I am powerless. My holy power has atrophied, another step of my punishment._

The castle had possessed few defenders to begin with, but even after being wrung dry of powerful fighters the pair of Ice Giants they'd recruited in a raid months ago let lingered. Mizal carefully undid their bindings, gently probing to make sure neither of the bipedal beasts would attack her when freed.

Then the rebels arrived. With a very familiar face at the head of the group. "Sister!", Yushis called from the doorway. "We have come to free you!"

Mizal stared back, held to the spot, allowed only a moment of joy over the sight of the eager angel who looked so much like her a century past. Likewise, all the humans and faeries Yushis had brought along with her- the most prominent being a rugged-looking beast man- had to be shocked by Mizal's own appearance. If not the fact that angels remained so rare in this world, then how close her appearance was to an older version of Yushis.

"Yushis", Mizal replied dully, remembering her place once more. "Sister. You should not have come. This is my punishment for my transgressions. I did not wish for you to see me like this."

"I told you", the Cherubim replied, shaking her golden hair back and forth, "I care nothing for that. We can start anew- these people I have found are different from Rashidi! They want to help!"

"It's true", the gruff beast man supported her. "We're more than happy to get you out of this frozen dump, Archangel Mizal." The battles required to make it this far had strained them, and Mizal swore for a moment she saw a hint of attraction between the two, forged through fire. It brought back a great deal of memories, good and bad.

Behind her, the twin frost giants growled their impatience. "No", she insisted, fixing her sister with the most serious gaze she could manage. "My punishment by Fellana and the other Gods was quite specific. I am never to leave this place until death, never again to see the beauty of the Sky Islands."

"You made one mistake", Yushis fired back with equal vigor. "One mistake should not condemn you to_ this_. Please, come with us!"

"One mistake that has caused untold hardship to our people. One mistake that violated centuries of tradition and placed the keys to our realm in the hands of a madman." Not self-pity, but sheer weariness crept into her tone and eyes now. So tired already, and they had not even begun yet... "Your naivete is refreshing sister, but the facts remain. I remain damaged goods, used up and discarded by that man."

"Mizal..." She was finally reaching her sister, impressing on her the severity of the crime, which Yushis had never accepted or truly believed in. Until now. "It's true then. You fell in love... with Rashidi?"

Shock dominated the faces of any number of the human rebels with her, and in a few cases revulsion as well. "That is my crime, Yushis. The most terrible one a respected Archangel could commit, divulging our secrets to that human even as we broke countless laws forbidding such a relationship. _ I_ am the reason why the Sky Islands have come under human attack. _ I_ am the reason our home has become a battleground. You should hate me."

"I do not hate you, sister. I _cannot_ hate you."

Why could Yushis not see? Why did she yet cling to the hope that everything could be made as it once was? The former Archangel's expression hardened and she motioned the two giants forward. "Then you are a fool. _Burning light of dawn, shine forth and purge all impurities! Jihad!_"

Macchus reacted in time, scattering them before the trio of blazing light beams that shot forth from where Mizal had raised her staff. Still she frowned- Yushis was the leader of this group, yet she had forgotten that none of her companions possessed the same near-immunity to holy spells like that one as their people did. If not for the beast man's quick thinking, they might have all died, leaving only her sister as a survivor.

She had to attack. She saw it now. Yushis was still the same over-emotional being she had been since her older sister's exile. The only way to get her to do what was right would be to place her companions at risk, cast her strongest spells... and even then the threat would have to be completely genuine.

The threat of the ice giants was certainly genuine enough. They charged through counterattacks of pixie dust and lightning to strike at the other rebels, periodically spewing frost like the Silver dragons' that lent the air a deathly chill. Macchus' own beast, a dark green-skinned Wyvern blew fire back at them but was outmatched and cramped within the hall. Outside, the weather of the Tundra had to have taken a tool upon it.

And Yushis only stood there, watching as her friends fought to stay alive. Now Mizal was angry- they had not been raised to be so passive. Lunging, she struck at the Cherubim with a staff, casting aside the faeries and muse who attempted to intervene. "Not even angels live forever, Yushis", she emphasized. "My time has come. Will you not give me release?"

"Join us", her sister pleaded, only barely blocking each strike. "Come with us, and we can stop Rashidi!"

"And defy the decree of the Gods, Fellana, the Sky Knights..." Mizal shook her head. "The punishment is just, and if you care about any of our traditions at all, you shall respect that." Tired of looking into that desperate face, she projected the Jihad attack again, this time eating into Yushis despite her natural resistance to such attacks.

The beast tamer howled her sister's name upon seeing her fall, and for the first time Mizal realized that they had no cleric with them. Strange- the rebels were well-known for gaining advantage through superior healing power. Macchus, however, called to his pet and climbed aboard, directing each gout of flame into the giant's face and burning one into submission.

The faeries made a stand of it, but Mizal merely observed them as they attacked, blocking with half-efforts. The fey folk were an intriguing specimen to be sure, commonly thriving in marshes or forests, with the primary den being Avalon. Though tiny, agile and capable of flight, they lacked any kind of physical strength compared to humans or angels. Even a girl their own size could pull their wings off like twigs. "Flee", she tried. "Your leader is beaten and unwilling to fight back. Flee, and you need not die here."

One of the larger red ones only shook her head, and spoke in a language more song than words. Not specific terms, but concepts. A debt of honour to the rebellion for saving their home. A liking for a certain Hawk clanner, and the desire to see if fighting the Empire was much fun. They existed to have fun.

"Begone then", the former archangel sighed raising her staff. "I doubt you shall find this to be much fun at all... _Banish!_"

The golden ring only tore into one of their number, but it was enough to make them flee and attend to the other battles going on. The muse, however, was not so easily scared. Vaulting over the steps, she brought lightning down onto Mizal's staff and began a slashing combination driving her toward the back wall, and then through it.

Now here was a foe who was serious. Mizal approved, firing off a Banish in the wrong direction before shedding the pretense. "Do it. Long have I waited for it."

The Highlander looked as though she was about to, but a sudden cry drew both their heads. Time enough for _Yushis_ to blast her comrade out of the way. "Is that...?"

"Mine", Mizal admitted after but a moment's deliberation. "I had wanted it to starve here, but now I suppose you shall take care of it. Mayhap it is better that way."

Yushis' fair eyes bulged, disbelieving. "Yours...?"

"A half-breed", Mizal reminded her. "Like the _rijanni_. I had wanted to destroy it, but could not bring myself to."

Yushis stared at the thing for a long time. Mizal had kept it back here, only feeding it personally when she could find the strength. Even the Imperial soldiers who had been assigned to guard her and the Tundra had not known- they had attended to immediate physical needs and nothing more, the bare minimum of food. Even now, the former Archangel knew that hunger was diluting her strength. Had she been well-fed, death might never have come.

"I know of your journey", she confessed. "For many years you protected Antalia from a great evil, defying our traditions to try and save me. Commendable. But lady Fenril was right. You go against it merely because of your own feelings- behavior not suitable to our people."

"When I become Archangel", Yushis said. "I'll abolish all of this tradition nonsense. Why shouldn't we visit Earth as we please?"

"The result of violating that law is what you see before you. Do your duty, Cherubim."

Dropping the staff, Mizal let the rest take its course, inwardly amazed at what it had taken to get her sister to realize the truth. Three blasts of the _Banish_ spell brought the angel to her knees, and then the Muse donated her lightning to the cause. She did not attempt to dodge any of it.

Instead she looked hard at Yushis. Her time imprisoned had been transformative, but she yet held the rogue streak that had made her start such a search. Only time would tell if she would overcome that and learn when to follow the law, and among Mizal's many regrets was that she would not live to see it.

Yushis made it gentle as possible, casting the spell again and again as if in a daze until Mizal moved no more. Outside, the second Frost giant had been toppled, but the two rebels only had eyes for the crying baby who had changed Yushis' mind.

"Rashidi's spawn", the muse observed. "We should kill it."

"No", Yushis stepped forward. "No more killing. I'll take care of him, don't worry. Er... It is a him, isn't it? I can never tell with humans."

"I think so". The muse looked up from the shoddy crib and paled. "_Freyashalas_... Your feathers!"

"My...?" She moved one wing around, looked closely at the way the colours were changing. Where before they had been a lustrous purple, they were now shifting to a more radiant crimson, bringing changes across the rest of her body even as she watched.

"Seraphim", she determined. "I guess this is what finally got me to that level."

"What did?" Naturally, the human looked amazed by the sight. The hawk men's transformations were nowhere near this dramatic. "Killing Mizal? Or saving this child?"

It might have been one or both. Or neither. Yushis would never know. She had never paid much attention to the fine points of their evolution. "I'll have to pull the weight for both of us now. Mizal and myself. I'll do it. And I'll do whatever it takes to make sure that man is stopped."

"That is the point", Macchus agreed, following them into the hidden chamber and gaping at Yushis' changes. "Whoa!"

"Amazing, isn't it?" She held up the crib. "Not as amazing as this though."

The tiny creature within had quieted down, asleep. It had faint traces of hair that might yet lean toward either parent's hair colour. For now, it was identical to a human baby. Half Zenobian blood, from one who had long ago been a celebrated hero before his descent into madness.

"He's coming with us", Yushis explained cautiously. "This place is a wasteland, with no other living creatures for miles. We leave him here, he dies."

"We'll see what happens", the muse countered. "Once we regroup with the rest of the rebellion. For now, I'd settle for a name. Mizal didn't say anything about that. What do we call him?"

Neither human looked to have any ideas. But Yushis remembered well another human who had come to visit her. Who indeed responsible for them getting this far, for she did not doubt that he was the one who had sent this diverse group to help her see the end of her own goal, tragic as it was.

"Lancelot... Call him Lancelot. And I shall be his mother from now on."

* * *

SKY ISLAND SHANGRILA

"Gentlemen..."

Destin's chest was still burning from where Gares had crushed it, but the single accented word still brought warmth to his face. Across the citadel's dungeon, the rest of the prisoners were being released from their restraints, the most heavily-chained prisoner acknowledging their presence yet somehow managing to remain aloof. Only one man would greet his rescuers in such a way.

"Deva-General Kaus Debonair", he replied wryly. "It feels like an eternity since last our swords clashed."

"Indeed it does, Destin ap Neb", the general nodded back respectfully, still unable to move his arms. "And I can sense that our time apart has worn upon your soul most-"

He stopped, seeing a new arrival dart between Destin and Ashe towards him. Norn's white monk robes had been burned to rags by Gares' attack, but still her dry-blond hair and nose were unmistakable. She held Kaus tightly as though competing with the chains, not making any legible sounds at first but simply weeping, making sure he was not an illusion. "You... stupid, stupid, stupid...! Don't you ever..."

"You knew the risks involved in my profession, Norn", Debonair said, reciprocating the sentiment as best he could without being able to move his arms, draping his overgrown hair across her shoulders like a warm mantle. "Though I must admit, I did not expect betrayal from within our own ranks."

At this, the monk let out a cry and wheeled Kaus' body through the air, spinning as though they were dancing. "No more talk of treachery for now", Ashe suggested mildly. "We can respect the man's right to privacy, can we not?"

"Wait", Debonair called as they turned to leave, looking pained despite his earlier joy at seeing Norn alive and well. "This citadel. The prince said he was going to put an end to everything."

"He's been taken care of", Destin assured him. "We were just about to descend to the lower levels to find this 'Chock' I've heard so much about."

True enough, the device was waiting for them in the citadel basement, identical to the ones that had come before but new to Destin's eyes. Less apparent was the confrontation near one of the railings; a pair of mages in Imperial red pointing staffs at an older-looking angel with long dark curls and fancy robes of a type they'd never seen. One of the mages held a wounded hostage- a young man who they almost did not recognize before they began to speak.

"Enough, humans", the angel woman demanded of her attackers, throwing up a barricade of fine golden light just to be sure. "Can you not see that your commander has fallen? You shall not be allowed to destroy the Chock. I shall not permit it!"

"Then you condemn this one to death", the other mage snarled back. "Step aside, or he gets it!"

Ashe wasted no time with chatter. He lunged forward, taking the unencumbered mage in the shoulder and ripping along the chest with his blade.

Cough.

Incensed, the other mage began to chant. At this range, any spell could take Reldin's head off. Ashe continued fighting the terrible wheezing noise that had overtaken him until the robed angel appeared between them and grabbed the remaining enemy's staff. The chant finished, but all that resulted was a muffled detonation and the angel calmly withdrawing a charred hand.

Terrified, the mage fell back, giving a recovered Ashe time to bisect the staff and knock the other man out cold.

"You have our thanks", Reldin gasped up from the ground. "Had you not shown up when you did, these two would have destroyed the Chock with their magic, and caused this entire island to fall."

"Defending Shangrila is my responsibility", the angel noted with the usual lack of empathy for humans they'd grown to expect. "I could not repel the invaders when they came, but nor could I allow such a transgression."

"Some means of concealing yourself from the enemy", Destin guessed as he caught up. "Very useful, miss...?"

"Fellana." Seeing the look on all three men's faces, she waved a slender hand dismissively. "Not the Goddess- I am not that arrogant- but the angel She named long ago as an avatar of justice, granting me Her own name. For centuries the 3 Sky Knights and I have worked to keep these lands safe from the turmoil of the world below."

"The last defender", Ashe observed, quick to make it seem like the cough had only been a minor issue. "Be not ashamed, lady Fellana. None of the Sky Knights could repel the Empire's assault on their lands. You were at least able to avoid the charms which Rashidi placed upon them, turning them to his side."

"Rashidi", the angel glared into the Chock's magical furnace, its light reflected in wrathful eyes. "That explains a great deal of the recent trouble. Only _he_ could have located our sanctuary, and led other humans to our paradise. This is all because of Mizal."

"We'll all get around to comparing notes in a little while", Destin promised. "A meeting tonight, in the great hall of the citadel, if you do not mind."

Fellana did not look happy, but merely shrugged in response. "All choice in the matter was taken when that Black Knight and his entourage slaughtered our finest warriors. If sir Slust and lady Fenril back you... Then perhaps I can give you a chance as well. Do not make me regret it."

With her departed, Destin turned to Reldin. He might not have recognized the young warrior had he not been the one to deliver Kaus Debonair's 'message'. "Debonair", Reldin panted, still recovering from where the mage's knife had pricked him. "Is he...?"

"He's safe with miss Norn. Hopefully he'll behave himself until my meeting is over with."

"He shall, my lord", Reldin assured him, devout against all injury. "I promise you he shall. After all he has told me of Norn, I cannot think he would be so ungrateful."

Having studied Shangrila's own magical tapestry-maps, Ashe stroked his beard. He'd known Kaus Debonair longer than most. Even with all they'd learned of how his people had treated him since their battle at Zenobia, the possibility of a defection was not yet guaranteed. "He'll make his own decision", he murmured. "He is an honourable man."

"That's all we can hope for." Satisfied that all was well in the basement, the rebel leader turned to leave-

Stopped. Reldin had gone on ahead to meet with the reunited lovers, but Ashe would not release his shoulder despite how even the strength of that grip no longer seemed at all solid. "Wait. Destin... No one can know. You understand?"

He did. But agreeing to what the knight captain was asking placed chains upon him he might well have to break for the good of the rebellion. "You held the Brunhild for us, sir Ashe. You kept it safe through what I am slowly coming to learn has been a most difficult time. Is that not enough?"

"Not while there is an ounce of life left in this withered body", Ashe insisted, pounding his chest plate with one fist. "Please... I can only be happy fighting for the rebellion now. Making up for twenty years spent sitting on my butt. But if Rauny or the prince knew of my condition, they'd move to have me sent home."

A strange look overtook the young rebel. Many things_ had_ changed since he had left, since Albeleo had broken him, but the captain's poise and desperation were completely at odds with the tough and cranky knight he remembered. "I am sorry, Valerin. I cannot risk the lives of the others by keeping them in the dark about this. And the prince's decision is final anyway- I am no longer the true leader of this army. Tristan is, but I shall explain your points to him in detail."

The captain looked like he wanted to protest more, but the cough overtook him before he could. Proving that for all his experiences and battles Destiny's Child could still be rattled by some things, for once he was certain the symptom would not be fatal, he followed after Reldin without another word.

* * *

CASTLE XANADU, HEART OF THE EMPIRE

The last snowfall of the month had been light by Highland standards and left the castle halls in the grip of a bleak silence tainting the outlook of all who dwelt there. No one bothered asking if it was due to news of the recent Imperial campaigning and the results of that campaigning, in that order; Empress Endora had once again descended into a high-strung state that no servant would dare risk intrusion upon if they could help it.

So it was with some relief that fresh and lively-seeming blood were accepted into this greatest of Imperial fortresses, even if many of them were foreigners whose strange habits and garment quickly alienated the guards. The new arrivals held themselves apart both from each other and Overlord Hikash's assembly of warriors, each with their own entourages and bodyguards. These were not true soldiers of the Empire, but allies; the lords of foreign lands and peoples who had never faltered in their loyalty, yet made clear their desire to remain distinct, separate from the 'melting pot' of the 12 Legions.

They were the best replacements available, Empress Endora acknowledged sadly, fighting off a twitch from the latest herbal infusion to keep her voice level and manner stable. Visions of her husband did not haunt her for the moment, driven off either by the medicine or by fresher grief. But that discussion would wait a moment longer. For now, she had to be the _Empress_, the Black Queen, perfectly elegant in diction and tact but utterly ruthless in negotiations. She drew herself from the throne, regarding the newcomers one at a time with respectful eyes.

"You all have our thanks and blessing for coming all this way on such short notice", Endora spoke. "Rest assured for this, and services which shall now be asked of you, you shall have the Empire's eternal gratitude, which shall never be forgotten."

None spoke yet, keeping respectful silence. A few of the guests seemed intrigued by the way the Empress seemed to be spurning the ever-loyal Hikash and his apprentices. And for that matter, _where_ were his other two apprentices? For only the generals Luvalon and Previa stood with him, and not one of these three Highlanders looked happy.

"Firstly, so as to clarify suspicions just as we dispel unwanted rumours- you have all been called here in response to the growing threat of the Second Zenobian Revolutionary Army."

Unsurprisingly, this cast the visitors into a worried clamour. High Shogun Prochon, the current leader of the ninja order and by association leader of Dahlmud Desert at the heart of Deneuve, was the first to calm himself and step forward. Wearing a unique matte silver bodysuit in contrast to night black of his Ninja Master escorts, he quickly loosened his veil and spoke rapidly to another man at his side.

"Master Prochon would like to inquire as to if we have been mislead previously", the thin man spoke in Zeteginean. "As of merely two weeks past, we had been told that the rebellion had been beaten and dissolved into smaller war bands by sir Luvalon. A mopping up action, nothing we need concern ourselves with."

"That was a trick on their part", Endora replied before Luvalon could speak. "Due to... unforseen aid... they were able to move the bulk of their forces out of the path of destruction. They had been driven into hiding, waiting several weeks until striking at the heart of Malano."

"I would assume this is why Arwan Apros has not chosen to grace this meeting with his illustrious presence", another one said. This one was the least of the dignitaries, but he did not let that prevent him from speaking his mind.

For commander Tashak controlled the garrison of Fort Allamoot and the surrounding archipelago whenever a higher-ranking soldier was unavailable. Half a dozen deep scars and an eyepatch gave mute testimony to the many battles he had waged not against the rebels, but uppity pirates who sought to control the passges of that trade-heavy region. As such, the commander was known to be a blunt individual who shunned the foppery and extravagant ceremony which nobles like Baron Apros thrived upon. The two had despised each other for years. Tashak was also one of the few people alive who spoke and understood Zeteginean, Zenobian, and Deneuve Standard fluently.

"The commander speaks truth", Endora admitted. "Though we've not had reports of a body, since the city fell we can safely assume that Baron Apros has been slain, or surrendered. Now the rebellion occupies itself with seizing the remaining provinces of Malano they have not already taken, no doubt gathering the manpower and resources needed to assault Fort Allamoot.

The commander forced himself not to snort at the thought. With all he had heard of the rebellion, particularly its enigmatic young leader, he would not dismiss anything out of hand, not even an attack on the single largest and most difficult to assail fortress in the entire lands of the south. Fort Allamoot was the gateway to the countries of Deneuve and Zeteginea. It was the best possible choke point they could ask for against a large army. Should it fall...

"I shall make all preparations after this meeting, Empress. I accept any additional support you may choose to send me. I swear that the rebellion shall be forced to fill Allamoot's waters to the brim with the dead before the fortress is theirs. They shall not pass."

"This cannot be. What of the tales of the rebellion successfully locating a capturing one of the Sky Islands created by the Gods?

The tall man to his left however, did not seem nearly as reassured. Wearing the robes of high office and flanked by loyal monks in white, the Imperial Cardinal Randals Orson Exequias might have first seemed like an elaborate parody of pompous bishops with the way he conducted himself. Never had Endora witnessed a holy man so blatantly abuse his position to fill his own coffers with the Goth of the faithful. His magnificent entourage of lady monks spoke volumes.

Yet in truth, that was the whole point. For while the teachings of Freya remained as decentralized and open as they had been for centuries, Cardinal Randals was instead appointed as representative of the Zenobian parthenon of Twenty-Two, an appearance of compromise to appease those opposing the Empire on basis of religion. Faced with such an incompetent fool of a regent, Malanians and Zenobians would gradually break away from the faith which allowed him to take advantage of them, and seek out a more liberating choice. At least, that had been the theory until High Monk Forris had taken up an 'unofficial' leadership of the Roshian Order, rekindling the hopes of the people. Now, those present tolerated Randals' pathetic attempts at dignity and Zenobian fervour with good grace. He was an imbecile, but he was a dedicated imbecile.

"If the rebels have indeed found such a place", Randals continued breathlessly, "it is a sign from the Twenty-Two that their continued existence is the harbinger of judgement upon us all. We must do everything within our power to eliminate these heretics. Send forth every legion, and purge the land of the vermin who infest it."

"Would that we could, Cardinal", Endora noted, trying hard to sound like his opinion was a serious consideration in the grand scheme. "But this flying island that the rebellion has taken has become a mobile base for them now. They strike from the sky wherever our defences are the thinnest. That is why I have already given the order for Lord Hikash and his subordinates to leave skeleton crews at their usual positions, and withdraw the majority of their divisions to Fort Allamoot."

"Where they shall all find a bed and all the supplies they desire", Tashak promised.

"I have more to tell", the Empress went on. "I am now at liberty to reveal the full extent of our losses. Rashidi Light?"

On cue, the Sage appeared behind a curtain, bearing a cloth-swaddled pallet with a sadness that no one familiar with him could quite believe to be any more genuine than other emotions he chose to show them, but it was still shocking to behold.

"Look upon him", the Empress commanded of everyone present, suddenly ancient and limp in her throne. "See how they have massacred my son."

The three dignitaries obeyed, and Rashidi pushed away enough of the cloth for there to be no doubt. The same devilish armour covered an unmoving frame, unique only to the Highland prince. Though the superficial damage had been repaired, no holy magic could bring back the dead. Cardinal Randals drew himself into a muttering prayer, and Prochon eyed the body with detached concern. He knew prince Gares' reputation as well as anyone.

"I shall reposition closer to Fort Allamoot", his translator announced. "We shall be of best use as trackers in a desert environment. Should the rebellion attempt to sneak some of their divisions through to the other side in the confusion, we shall hunt down and kill them."

Behind the mouth sash, Prochon allowed a small, savage grin. He had also paid close attention to every drifting rumour which pointed to the Samurai Order lending a number of their novice warriors to the rebellion's battles as a part of their training, and the increased interest the Seven Daimyo had shown in joining directly once it was certain they had a chance at victory. Finally, a chance to crush his longtime rivals, and prove once and for all the superiority of the Ninja Order!

"Hikash has prepared reports on the major leaders of the rebellion, and what their capabilities are believed to be", Endora said. "Besides the one known as Destiny's Child, of particular worry are the Wind Rider Canopus Walf, governor Gilbert Oblion, Rashidi's ex-student Saradin 'Truthsayer' Carm, the witch Deneb Rhodes, and the knight captain Lancelot Hamilton."

She had done Hikash a begrudging favor in not mentioning his daughter nor the man whom she had betrayed her people to be with, but Luvalon yet looked upset by the last name the Empress mentioned. "Impossible. Lans Hamilton is dead. I performed the deed myself, and there is no way he could have lived."

"His trademark blue armour was sighted at a number of skirmishes following the battle of Shangrila", Endora claimed, all but rolling her eyes at the Deva. "In the storm which overtook the Valley of Kastro, who can say what truly happened? If anything, he has become more active in missions than previously. He demonstrated new powers as well, like that of a Seraphim."

"A...apologies milady. I did not wish to contradict."

"You are forgiven. You must all consider any resources or abilities you have held back for times of need. This _is_ an emergency, there is no questioning that. Allamoot must not fall." A nod to Tashak's single brown eye. "You must remain in constant communication with Lord Hikash, coordinate his forces with your own defences wherever possible."

Turning to Randals, she tried the angry stare to get his full attention. "Cardinal, you must now preach to every temple and shrine in the Empire. Let your words resound throughout the lands of the south emphasizing the wrongness of this rebellion and the chaos they have wrought upon our lands. Their leader has never been seen to show much deference to the Twenty-Two himself, you may be able to use that."

"Indeed, Empress." Though the Cardinal sounded completely serious, she began to wonder if his words were yet an act, or his true face. Was there a difference? "All people must come to understand that giving aid or comfort to Destin Faroda and those associated with him is the surest path to burning forever and ever in Antanjyl and beyond. And that working to defeat their vile aggressor shall be looked upon favourably by the Gods and myself."

"I require the use of your people, Prochon", she demanded of the Shogun. "The rebellion has recruited a great many of the bird-folk to serve as their runners, and we require beings of equal swiftness to do the same for our armies. They are not required to be combat-capable, merely skilled at the quick-movement your people are famous for."

"I can name thirty, milady. Fifty.", Prochon's translator answered brightly. "But all the most skilled Ninja Masters and Shogun shall be held back at Dahlmud to reinforce when needed. I swear you shall have our greatest efforts in this endeavour."

She nodded weakly, and Prochon could tell she knew about the Samurai Order's shifting allegiance as well as he. Neither had any doubt that he would serve the Empire which had made him High Shogun unto death.

However, Endora was not quite done. She turned back to Tashak, one fretful eye glancing at the Deva as well. "Commander, I could not order you to exhaust all possible weapons without removing my own boundaries as well. Thus I hereby grant you permission to activate Allamoot's greatest weapon."

Tashak was a stern man, but even he paled at that. "You mean...? Empress, you shall allow us to...?"

"More than that", Rashidi confirmed for her, seeing another mini-seizure coming onto Endora. "I have already ordered some of our mages to bring them both here, so that I might activate them myself." Shrugging as if the matter were of no importance, he gestured to eight new servants barging into the hall with two large pallets. "I am one of the only magicians capable of it. I want no mistakes, and who better to awaken such mighty creatures than Rashidi?"

Everyone ignored Tashak's muttered protests as the pallets were lain down and the ritual commenced. The pallets bore two identical statues the size of hill giants, sharing weirdly spiky hair and extremely broad chins. Their sole garments looked like hide togas with straps at the top, which only a few noticed were reversed from each other.

"_Kadin adjchru"_, Rashidi began, raising his hands for the four magi to join him in the performance. "_Omnis demarchis ojiphiast! Kadin razna adjmi emille kan! Dejeon!"_

Though the chant went on for a solid minute, no one dared move from their spot. None were well-versed in magic, and for many it was the mightiest spell they had ever heard recited. When it was over, Rashidi lowered in gloves in exhaustion for several seconds... then the left statue's stone eye cracked.

Beneath the cracked stone something alive moved. The cracked graduated outwards, the single slate-gray eye peering at the assembly even as the rest of the body came to life. On the other side, the right-oriented statue was doing the exact same. Both of them shed the covering like skin, rising from the pallets until they towered over everyone else in the hall. The only part of the pose they had been stuck in for decades was the way both had one hand clutched to their chins as if in morose thought, as if both were considering their situation.

"It would seem that we've been awakened, brother", the left statue rumbled in a strange voice once they had stood up all the way.

"It would seem so, brother", the right statue said in the same tone.

"I cannot help wondering why we have been summoned, brother", said the left twin.

"A very astute inquiry, brother", concurred the right twin.

"Freya... They _do_ live", Tashak whispered in awe. The Gemini Twins were an old mariner's myth come to life. Two statues who had watched over the harbors and barracks of Allamoot for centuries. "Castor and Polydeuces, the twin guardians of the gate. Amazing."

"Amazing", the left statue repeated, cocking one spherical eye. "He thinks we're amazing, brother."

"That is very kind of him, brother."

"He reminds me of our former master, brother. Did he not have one eye as well?"

"I do believe he did, brother. But that was the right one. This one is the left."

"Mayhap he traded sockets, brother?"

"Welcome, Gemini Twins", Rashidi broke in when it became clear that the two hulking guardians would chatter with each other all day were they allowed. "Do you remember me?"

The left twin- Castor- looked quizzical. "Do we remember this human, brother?"

Polydeuces mirrored his expression. "An interesting question, brother. I believe this human's name was Radish. He is the one who made us flesh."

"Ah! You always have such a good memory, brother. It is obvious what we must do now."

"Ah! And you are always so lavish with your praise, brother. Master Radish, we await your command."

Losing patience fast, Rashidi pointed to Commander Tashak. "Gemini Twins, this man shall be taking you back to Fort Allamoot now. It must be defended against invaders soon- he is your master now. You must obey his every word. Understood?"

Castor at least seemed to grasp this, in his own strange way. "Former Master Radish says that the fortress Allamoot shall soon be under attack, brother."

"Indeed. We'd best do something about that, brother. Shall we kill them all?"

"Indeed. We shall have to kill them all, won't we brother?"

"That was the way we repelled the pirates last time, wasn't it brother? By killing them all."

"I do think it was, brother. Yes we must kill them all. Just like last time we repelled the pirates, wasn't it?"

"Then let us make our plans", Endora tried cutting in this time. The twolooked identically annoyed, but did not comment.

However silly the Gemini Twins might appear to this diverse group of rulers, she knew very well that no creations of the Sage of Light were ever harmless. And these two massive creations looked strong enough to lift houses, or destroy them with bare fists. "Let us all gather together our greatest strength and carefully plan how we shall at last destroy our hated foes, the rebels..."

Convinced that the Empress had regained enough of her old spark to finish the meeting alone, Rashidi nodded to the servants, who then bore the crumpled armour of Gares Endora to another hall, free of witnesses. Looking around twice to be sure, the Sage knelt down and touched one hand to the armour's pauldrons.

"You idiot. You're lucky to even be here."

No response from the armour. Doubtless many of the servants were wondering if perhaps the Sage of Light was actually experiencing some kind of grief at their prince's demise. Railing against the dead for the foolish actions that had brought them to it was hardly a rare concept. Still, they were relieved when the Sage gestured for them to leave.

"Your time is over, prince", Rashidi went on. "Your mother grieves. Not even the Dark can restore those wounds. You may never walk again."

A red glint shone from the helmet now. Not quite an eye, but a sign that something _was_ alive in there. A voice, so mechanical and shattered it barely registered to the Sage's ears. "Destinnnn Farodaaaa... Are you Destin Faroda?"

He couldn't quite laugh at that. "No. Merely his-"

"Then DIE." Before he could finish, the body's left arm went from deathly stillness to a speed that alarmed the Sage as it flew up to vise on his neck.

He actually _felt_ the pressure of the metal choking him before using his magic to force the arm back down, and he withdrew several steps after.

"Barely even there any more", he remarked sadly. "But your body may yet be of use to me. Prince... How would you like another chance to fight and kill Destin Faroda?"

He wondered why he was bothering the moment he finished those words. The only ones that had gotten a rise out of the Black Knight were the last two. The rest drifted by with no sign he had even heard them. He stroked his beard.

"Hm. Never mind then. I'll take that as a yes. Not as though you can resist now, is it?"

The armour remained motionless. Only the red glow remained, peering out from the helmet's slit like a frightened rat. With a sigh, Rashidi put both hands to the pavel and started walking.

"Never fear, my prince. We're going to take good care of you now. In fact, I dare say you will have the best medical attention available, for the rest of your life."

* * *

SKY ISLE SHANGRILA, CITY OF RUSHELN

Looking around the alien-seeming marble architecture, Destin Faroda eyed the assembly in surprise, quickly reminded of how vast and intimidating the original gathering at Castle Volzak had been nearly a year ago.

It was much bigger than that now. The handful who had followed him into the depths of Antanjyl were now the just the start. More than two hundred eyes were watching as he and Tristan walked onto an upraised section of stone in the city square. Some yet held resentment, but in truth Destin was pleasantly surprised there was not more of that in the crowd.

Washing down doubt with a pitcher of spring water, he stepped forward, trying once again to be able to reach everyone with his voice, to make it _strong_ once more, as strong and confident as it once had been. "I have not forgotten the dislike dedicated warriors among us have for long, boring speeches. So, though I do have some things which I must say, Prince Tristan has agreed that we might first share tales, so that we might gain a greater understanding of what is going on in the world at present."

Simply delivered, if stiffer than his usual charm. It felt like Lans had rubbed off on him some. The angel knight now sat at the head of the leftmost table with Ashe and other Zenobian swordsmen. There was no way to tell without asking if he had revealed his changes to his other comrades yet, but he looked quite happy.

"Thank you, Destin", Tristan took over for him. "After what you accomplished today, we are doubly in your debt."

He bowed deeply, accepting the handshake Tristan offered him after. "It was my pleasure, Fichs Tristoram Zenobia. Though I am no longer the official leader, I shall continue to serve this army in any capacity you see fit."

The prince practically beamed, and for the first time Destin sensed the hero worship about him. Unwanted hero worship, and undeserved, but he would not spoil this moment with complaints.

"First", Tristan began again. "We all know Sage Rashidi's true intent now. Though it is impossible to tell when this became a priority, it is not out of the question to think that the Sage of Light might have joined with Empress Endora and created the Empire for the sole purpose of gathering the twelve sacred Zodiac Stones, and the clay Tablet of Yaru to translate them."

From the off-kilter murmuring running around the tables, it was clear to both men that _not_ everyone had known that. Destin himself had not borne witness to the battle at Malano, nor the monstrosity Baron Apros had used the Zodiac stone to transform himself into. But it _did_ make sense. Power, as he had so recently learned, was a more potent drug than any addictive herb in the land. From the unreachable height had he climbed to, Rashidi might only desire more and more, blurring the line between human and deity.

"The stones hold the runes for the spells used by the Gods to create this world', Slust explained slowly. "We believe they're the main reason why he sought to take control of the Sky Islands in the first place, seducing the Archangel Mizal and wheedling the information out of her."

From the back, Fellana's avatar looked like she might say more on that subject, but remained quiet. "The spells were never used in the Ogre Battle", Slust went on, Fenril standing silently at his side. "But I can just about guarantee they are beyond any magic humanity has ever known. If Rashidi translates the runes, and learns the spells... We might well bear witness to a new God on Earth."

"We also know he's at least one short", Saradin Carm cut in, holding up the shiny red 'Ruby' stone. "Baron Apros had this stone and used its power. So long as we keep it, Rashidi's goal is unachievable."

"All the same", Tristan said, "it would be wise of us to begin operations to locate any of these stones he has not yet procured, particularly the Tablet. I've heard word that a good many of them are actually concealed by loyal retainers in Zenobia. More good news for us."

"Indeed", Destin nodded. "Anyone not part of the main army can help to locate them, try to protect them from the assassins and spies the Sage shall surely send now that we've learned the truth. Investigate any recent murders in Zenobia, find out if the victims or their families had any prior history with the royal family."

"Between that and the way our attacks have limited the Empire's grasp", Tristan confirmed, "we actually have a good chance of stopping this. So long as the main army does not fall."

"Which brings us to Fort Allamoot?", Gilbert guessed from his table. "I've been in contact with Tsuno Balakai and the rest we left behind. He's encountered increasingly little resistance taking the last of Malano. All signs indicate the Empire is using that gateway as their final stand... and they yet outnumber us by a considerable degree."

"Four legions decimated, another stripped of its aerial component", Tristan considered, going over their battles. "That still leaves seven armies at near-full strength, though we know one- the legion of Cale Previa, the 3rd Deva- is occupied with the pacification of Antalia at present."

Unsurprisingly, Lans and Aisha both looked concerned over that. "Couldn't we send a force to stop them?"

Tristan shook his head. "If Allamoot is to be even remotely conquerable, we must conserve our strength for then. According to Lancelot Hamilton's report, the civilian resistance there was opposed to the cult of the Imprisoned One, not to Imperial rule once Omicron's zealots are purged from the land. With their resources, they could do a better job rebuilding that tarnished land than we could, and it keeps them away from the fortress. For now, we must wait."

In turn, the Sky Knights grew concerned over this. "But we shall save Fogel and his protectorate, correct?"

"In time", the prince looked to the sky, gesturing. "Isle Shiguld has been moving erratically since we took Organa. We won't be able to attack it using the islands in our control- we must find the last Chaos Gate first. And like Antalia, this dilutes the enemy's strength trying to hold that place and keep its populace in check."

Fenril looked like she wished to say more, but sat down, lip curled.

All eyes now followed Tristan's to the Deva towards the back of the hall, Norn alongside him. "General Kaus Debonair... I did not wish to force this choice on you so quickly after freeing you from that dungeon. But before we begin any serious consideration of an attack plan against Fort Allamoot, I must have your answer. Will you fight with us?"

Debonair and Norn looked distraught by the request, but also as though they had expected nothing else. "I have spoken with some of you gentlemen", the general confessed, stepping forward to speak. "Destin and private Reldin were kind enough to tell me of everything that had transpired regarding my dear friend Rowdain Figaro. And the lies propagated to make our armed forces believe that Destin slew me in battle."

With a nod towards Reldin, he put one hand to an empty sheath. "This could only mean that I was to be killed once the war was over and my body turning up in some lake would make no difference to morale. Moreover, that Norn would face the same fate as I had she not defected at Diaspola to find me."

Heaving a sigh, he gazed out across the gathering as if looking for a sign from Freya. "Listen closely, all of you... The Empress Valencima Endora was once a fair and just ruler. She always put the good of the Highlands first, never resorting to the petty backstabbing of nobles or merchant lords. I cannot say for sure what is the surest cause of the change, only that she has now become anathema to her loyal warriors. My _quest_, gentlemen, whether you choose to accept it or not, is to find the source of her change, and remove it. That is all."

"Words cannot express my gratitude for helping me to find Kaus", Norn added beside him. "Nor my penance for attacking you the way I did. We've both had our eyes opened by force to the truth, just as Rauny had by prince Tristan. Our dear home has become rotten and barbarous."

"In other words", Debonair took over. "So long as our goal remains the restoration of Zeteginea and _not _its destruction or capitulation... Then we shall indeed fight alongside you, prince."

He could make out all the other pale Zetegineans in the gathering breathing out slightly. Despite all they had seen, not one of them wanted to be responsible for going against their faith, nor for killing the Empress for which they had such respect. Many of them yet believed she was not at fault, that it was Rashidi and Gares manipulating her commands for their own ends.

There would of course be serious trust issues no matter how well-behaved and honourable the Deva seemed to be. For now however, allowing him into strategy meetings such as this one gave them advantage enough to outweigh the risk. The fact that he had proposed alongside Norn meant the chance of betrayal was extremely low.

"Then welcome aboard, general Kaus Debonair", he announced at last with a grateful smile. "Together, we shall fight to restore the honour of the Highlands." Seeing relief on Rauny's face as well, he scanned the crowd again. "Is there anything else someone would like to add before Destin gives this long speech he's been holding back?"

A smattering of raucous laughter across the tables. A trio of armoured men Tristan did not know stood, accompanied by an extremely displeased-looking Selec Fubuki. "These three are representative members of the Seven High _Daimyo_", the ronin announced dully. "They have come to declare the allegiance of the Samurai order to the rebellion... and to grant me the title of Master."

Almost no one heard the second part. The first was ground-breaking news. "And how many warriors do you purport to bring to our service, sir Daimyo?"

The large one in gray armor at the heard spoke rapid Deneuvian, to which Fubuki replied. "Thirty masters, two of the High _Daimyo_. On the condition that when the time comes, we do not spare the life of High Shogun Prochon."

Tristan shifted uneasily. They were getting a little ahead of themselves. Prochon's home base was the Dahlmud desert at the heart of Deneuve, many miles past Fort Allamoot. Killing the head of the Ninja order meant giving rulership of that country to the Seven Daimyo. The entire order could be exterminated on their command.

But there was nothing to be done. Chancing a glance off to the side he saw the same caution and grudging acceptance in Destin Faroda's blue eyes. They needed this. "I can promise that we shall imprison Prochon for life if he surrenders. If he elects to fight to the end, you may kill him."

The face-masked trio seemed satisfied, withdrawing in silent lethality. When no one else stood, he waved to give Destin room to speak. A few of the lower-level fighters and runners did depart to try and stomach more of Shangrila's food staple, but all the leaders remained behind to listen.

Beginning with his head down, their former leader forced it back up as though ensnared in chains of iron. "This is the hardest thing I've ever had to say. But I owe it to you all to say it."

Some peered closer, listening intently. Others kept their distance, resentment stamped on their faces. But they had not abandoned him, if what they had done to Gares yesterday was not evidence enough of that. The greatest miracle he- no, _they- _had ever managed.

"I'm sorry."

Panning across the gathering, he made sure he had reached Tristan as well. "For as far back as I could remember I was groomed for this. I was trained and prepared by Warren Moon and his associates to become a living weapon against the Empire. I was given instruction in every important area from language to the branches of magic and yes, even ethics. I read books, wondrous fairy tales that spoke of honour and chivalry and truth without ever delving into what those words truly meant."

"But for of that, Warren didn't understand that I lacked a crucial component. Something that all of you have in abundance... A reason to fight. Something to care for, something you'd lay down your life for without thinking twice. Until only recently, my only reason to fight was vengeance upon Gares Endora, the cause for which I shall not speak of here."

Hearing hushed whispers along the tables, he spread both arms. "I'm not trying to lay the blame for my actions on Warren, or even Gares. They are mine to bear. I have wronged a great many of you personally."

He nodded towards Galnam Lyon, who had been idling toward the rear of the right table and feeding one of his dragons. "Lyon... I forced you to slay one of your pet dragons, out of the fear that a Black dragon being born in our army might be seen as a bad omen. Never trusting my people to see beyond that old superstition. And never considering that as a Beast lord, you feel a closer kinship to animals than to people. I demanded that you slay one of your own friends."

The Wind Rider caught his eye now, still remicinsing with Gilbert and Yulia but now at rapt attenion. "Canopus Walf... I forced you to slay the mer-queen. Not merely because it was the most efficient way to victory, but because of my own weakness. I still have yet to deliberately slay a woman myself, you see. A hundred kills on my blade, many of them demons. One of them an _Ogre_. And still, I hesitate to shed a woman's blood." He paused, as if waiting for the bird man to snort at the ridiculousness of such a weakness. It never came. "I never considered how you might feel, that if anyone was sympathetic to the plight of the merfolk, it would be you."

"Gilbert Oblion", he went on to the man beside the Wind Rider. "Despite all that you taught me in our time together, I abandoned the ways of integrity to strive for complete victory. Solely because it would make _me _look more like a hero to the people. Taking the lead in battle more and more with the power of the Dark at my side, thinking that I was sparing you all the risk... I never considered that for many of you, there was more to victory than simply not dying."

"Valerin Ashe." The old captain looked despondent about Destin learning his secret, he also knew he would never openly proclaim such a touchy matter. "Though I understand that Tristan and Rauny helped to make the load an easier one to bear, I never meant to abandon any of you, nor leave you in charge of Zenobia's last hope for freedom. My grief at the time numbed me to all other consideration. I only hope that one day, you can forgive me."

"Lans Hamilton. Deneb Rhodes." Now he cracked a wan smile, seeing those two seated together among the knights and paladin. A year ago, Lans would have thrust the witch away and crossed himself, if not killed her altogether. It was good to see his two best friends could get along. "You two have followed me to the ends of the abyss and beyond them, finding worth in our quest- and in myself- where I could not. There is nothing I can ever do to repay this deed, but swear that Zenobia shall never again suffer the way it has for the past twenty-five years. No new tyrant shall appear in Endora's place. I swear it upon my life."

"And now-"

"Forgetting someone, boy?"

To his great shock, it was not Deneb who had dared interrupt him in such a way. It was Warren, marching between the tines of tables on his staff, looking bizarrely pleased with his timing. "Go on then. We know how this goes by now." He began speaking in a falsetto. " 'Oh Warren Moon, I have wronged you so...' "

Ignoring Tristan's outstretched hand, Destin descended the steps, his serenity gone. Too fast for anyone to protest, he swung past Warren's unresisting grasp to belt him in the chin, causing him to skid back and bleed but not fall. "No weapons", the Sage quipped at an anxious crowd once his head finished pounding. "I completely deserved that one. Possibly a few more."

"More than I have the strength left to inflict", Destin replied in unsettling calmness, holding the red mailed fist he'd used to deliver the blow. His own ribcage injury was throbbing with pressurized blood. "But now is not the time or place. Welcome aboard Shangrila, 'master' Warren. I'm certain there is a great deal for you to catch up on... If the 'Arcana' has not already done so."

"Still so impatient", the seer remarked teasingly as he returned to his feet.

"A Sage", Tristan commented once they had returned to the platform. "I had thought Rashidi to be the last... No matter. A friend of Destin's is a friend of ours. Erm... He _is_ your friend, isn't he?"

"In a fashion", Destin admitted from behind him. "It's a very long story prince, and I'm quite sure you are sick of me talking by now."

But Tristan had been waiting for just this moment as well. He spread both arms in welcome, inviting Rauny over with the rest for a more private meeting. Lans and Deneb followed them as well, piqued by the prince's sudden decisiveness.

"When we fought", Tristan said once they were clear. "Gares said that I owed you my life even before this rebellion began. If either of you hold any knowledge of that, I would be more than happy to hear of it."

Right away, the prince knew he'd hit paydirt. Destin looked reluctant and Warren on tenterhooks, but neither of them were so paranoid as to deny their leader the tale. At least, not anymore.

"As you wish, my prince", Destin answered at last. "Have a seat, grab some ale- if they have any up here, I haven't checked- and I shall tell you everything. Everything that I remember about that horrible night, twenty-five years ago..."

**End of Part Two**

* * *

**Author's Musings: **

Haha, cliffie.

It's hard to believe, but my original intention when I started this story was to have exactly 22 chapters, each one with a corresponding tale of the Tarot cards about 'The Fool's Journey', the Fool card in this case being Destin, who knew next to nothing about the world when he started. It quickly became apparent that I would have to make huge cuts worthy of a Harry Potter movie in order to finish this in just 22 chapters considering my size limit. Considering the actual game consists of about 30 large-scale battles including the optional ones (not sure if I'm going to include Dragon's Haven), I don't think it has _too_ much padding, though admittedly I have glossed over the battle of the Tundra (there's nothing interesting there in the game, just more snow units to fight and people talking about Mizal and Rashidi's forbidden romance and how she was banished).

I plan for the third and final part to have 6 or 7 chapters to end with. Still to have to write some (hopefully) epic battles against the new rulers introduced here as well as Overlord Hikash, the 3rd and 4th Deva, the Gemini Twins, Empress Endora and eventually Rashidi. I'll be taking a hiatus while getting back into the swing of things for school, but there won't be a big time skip this time, only a couple of days between this chapter and the next.

As for this chapter, it feels to me like there's too much dialogue. Odd considering how long I made the Gares battle, but I do have the annoying habit of putting it into the battles too in order to explain things. If any part of this story is unclear so far, please let me know and I'll go into more detail.


	24. The Empire

**Disc: **Ogre Battle is the property of Enix.

* * *

**The Empire**

* * *

"_All creatures wish to be able to believe in something bigger than themselves. Most cannot live without blind obedience. And to escape the pressure of that responsibility, those in whom the faith of the masses is placed in turn look for someone higher them themselves. And then those people in turn look for someone even stronger."_

"_That is how rulers are born. That is how countries are born. One can choose to fight against this solemn truth, or embrace it, and plan ways to use it to improve the world in which they live. In finding Destiny's Child, I chose the latter. That is my sole crime."_

-Sage Warren Moon, Memoirs

* * *

_Zenobia burned._

_Chaos gripped the streets as every citizen still able fled the conquering enemy. No longer did they concern themselves with trifling questions such as 'How did they get over the wall?' or 'Where are the royal guards to protect us?'. It had become race of survival, and one growing more hazardous by the second as more Imperial troops streamed into the massive city._

_Most shared the same goal; procure the major staging areas throughout the capital, prevent the royal guard from regrouping. But the young prince Gares Endora spent his time instead surveying the crowd, his handsome face twisted into a scowl as countless peasants streamed past him on either side of the main street. None that he had seen so far matched the person he'd been told to track down. The person who had escaped._

_Fichs Tristoram Zenobia had resisted Banya's arm with every bit of might his body could manage as a child of five summers, and now dragged along behind the royal nursemaid like a troublesome boat anchor. What was going on? Who had started fires in his home? Where were his sisters, his brother Jan? Where was his mother? Banya wouldn't explain. Only that they had to run._

_So they had run. They had run through a multitude of filthy passages beneath the burning castle and then out into the panicked masses hoping to get lost in the crowd._

_Tristan had seen his father's men sparring, so what happened next he could at least comprehend. A fist of mail descended and struck the nursemaid in the head, dropping her to the cobblestones to the terror of everyone nearby. A monster with a man's face stepped forward, kicking the woman away._

_The child ran. Had the dark man offered him candy and done nothing at all to Banya he would yet haunt the prince's nightmares for years to come. Not caring where he ran to or even where he was, he fled past the main street and into the side alleys, past a row of now-abandoned residences..._

_The dark man was waiting for him. "Well look at you", he observed. The families nearby stopped and stared, perhaps recognizing the voice. "With the royal nursemaid, no less. Dirty blond, short... Oh yes. You're the prince all right. Why such a rush?"_

_He could not speak. He could not even more. Only blubber and wail and wait for the end, eyes staring at the axe the dark man held, a guillotine. "H-hey. Stop that. It's annoying."_

_Annoying, and attention getting. A dozen panicking people had stopped to witness this first execution of a Zenobian royal. Either way, Tristan did not care. Everything was wrong. He wanted Banya. He wanted his mom. He wanted to be back safe and warm in the castle where the dark man would never, ever catch him._

"_Shut up! Stop it!" Hearing no end to the prince's bawling, the dark man lifted his axe, centering it so as to split the child before him straight down the middle... _

_Hesitated. The axe hung in the air forever, only descending when a completely different force was shoving it downward. It was Gares' own collapsing body, taken from behind by a figure Tristan's own size. The figure had run forward with an unintelligible howl, but all that energy would not have been enough if the dark man remained focused. He clattered to the ground in a mess of cape and armour, nearly crushing the prince._

_It was as if waking from a trance. Whether he realized that the figure had saved him or it was simply too much fear for a child to handle, Tristan broke and ran into the night. By the time Gares had returned to his feet, the prince was gone._

_He instead turned his attention to the one responsible for the delay. Another child, this one with straw-yellow hair and blue eyes he found he could not look into for more than a few seconds. Regardless of his strangeness, outrage drove the dark man to his feet, shot out his arm to grip the brat by his tiny throat. "YOU", he spoke in absolute fury. "Just made the biggest mistake of your **life**, kid!"_

_A man and woman, the man clearly a retainer of the kingdom, let their parental instincts guide them. The man attacked madly with a sword, while the woman merely beat on Gares with her bare fists._

_There was no hesitation. Not with grown men and women like those he had already slain dozens of in this life. The dark man swept his mighty axe once, twice, thrice... and the two interlopers lay dead before him._

_But not the kid. No... for him, mere death wouldn't be enough. He had been looking for a suitable victim for the initiation ritual Rashidi had told him of, the one which would make him strong. With Fichs Tristoram Zenobia no longer available, the Highlander bore his eyes into the blue voids the new child's eyes had become and refused to budge._

_True Black Knights were afraid of nothing. Certainly not a child's eyes, no matter how tearful they became. He would learn to face those strange blue voids without the creeping sensation that came with them, he vowed. He would be afraid of **nothing**. _

_Certainly not a child._

* * *

SKY ISLE SHANGRILA

"The rest you know", Destin finished his story, holding all who had attended rapt to the spot and motioning to some. Tristan, Warren, Lans, Deneb, Iseult and Rauny all listened. "Or can at least guess at. Gares took me to a far-off dungeon. He began the 'slaying of the conscience' you need to become an 'old-style' Black Knight."

"Throwing off his limits", Tristan repeated, disbelieving. Beside him, Rauny could not even formulate a word in her language to address what had just been revealed. "That _bastard_. I remember now. Fire and smoke, a million people in the grips of an insane panic. I am yet afraid of fire to this day. I yelled for my parents but they couldn't hear me. If only I'd-"

"_Don't_, prince", Lans cut in sternly. "You were but five summers old, how were you to understand that crying would attract your executioner?" Facing Destin, he tapped his visor in thought. "More incredible still is that sir Destin somehow knew to attack him at such a young age. Were it anyone else but my brother, I would claim it a lie. What child would throw themselves at such a monstrous man?"

"One guided by fate", Warren provided, equally serious. "You don't remember, do you? What it was that caused you to do that?"

Perturbed, Destin shrugged The memory would never be exactly clear. It was too long ago. "An impulse. I just knew it was bad, and that he was bad. I didn't want to see any more horror that night."

"A hero from the very beginning", Tristan marvelled to Destin's great annoyance. "I _do_ owe you my life, and Zenobia owes you much more than-"

"_Don't_", he held up a red-mailed hand just as Lans had. The mention of the word 'hero' seemed like a slap in the face. "I told you before, I'm not retaking full command of the rebellion. That's your position- you're the prince. I just want a division to fight for you in, nothing more."

Tristan was uncertain, but in this case all those present were in agreement, if not for all the same reasons. "You're completely sure about that?"

"Positive, my prince. I understand now- a Fool like me cannot be trusted with any power beyond what has been given to me. That is plenty, as you may have noticed already."

The prince yet looked disappointed. Like most of the populace he had only heard the tales of the wondrous adventures and battles of Destiny's Child. He had only met the real thing a few days ago. "If that is how you desire it... but I might at least ask you to stay on in an advisory position. I shall handle the execution."

"If you would ask that of me", Destin agreed with a formal bow. "We must arrange a ceremony of some sort, to assure everyone that I am working under _your_ command and not the opposite. But not just yet."

"I know. We're not ready for Allamoot yet. Lyon and Banya still aren't back from their mission, and we're only now recalling others from distant fronts all throughout Malano."

"All true", Destin nodded back, "but not quite what I meant, prince. There's something else before we start planning anything."

To his credit, Warren Moon did not run from him. He sat there leaning upon his staff, staring back at Destin's blue voids like an advancing beast once he stood up from the table. "Tell them", he demanded of the seer. "About the council of Sages."

Slowly, they each comprehended. This was at least part of what Destin had struck his old mentor over. Taking Destin's offered chair, Warren Moon took a deep breath. "Did Rashidi tell you?"

"Rashidi_ did_ talk to me after I left at Balmorra. But he did not speak of everything. Rather, he was more focused on trying to bring me over to his side with honeyed words, only hinting at his final goal. You were his friend once."

"Once, boy", Warren emphasized, clearly reluctant to go on. "I promise you we did not conduct secret meetings or anything like that after he betrayed the council. This was the first time I had seen him in the flesh since the fall of Zenobia twenty-five summers back. He has not aged since then."

"He said that everything he had done was for the betterment of humanity", Destin said. "Care to explain?"

"_All _men believe they act for the greater good", the seer retorted in straight contempt. "Even if they must commit the most heinous of sins to achieve it. The Sages' council was no exception in this regard. But only the Sage of Light was willing to kill to do it."

"And what would that greater good be, sir Warren?" For now Lans too had leaned forward, more than irked that the seer had kept this from them.

"The return of Zenobia to the kingdom of the Gods of course", Warren claimed. "You've all heard the legends, the folklore. That is what we call our home. There is a reason why Zenobia has the greatest concentration of magical ley lines in the entire world, and why its native-born people are naturally more gifted in magic than any other people. Rashidi, Omicron, Kapella, Saradin, Albeleo, myself and everyone else who was on the council... We are all born and bred Zenobians. The magic is in our blood."

"_Wizards_", Rauny offered her own contempt of the prospect, in one of the only Zenobian words she had memorized.

"Wizards one and all", the seer replied, pretending not to notice the princess' anger. "Arrogant old men who thought they knew what was best for the world. For many generations had the Sages' council played at being shepherds, plotted ways to keep Zenobia's people in touch with our Gods, the Twenty-Two living fragments of the _Bretnach Nabor_... But the people's slide away from the spiritual and into the mundane was a proven fact by the time that I joined and became the Sage of Moon. King Marcus was the true power in Zenobia then, and his scornful defiance of our direction a clear indicator of how feeble our influence had grown."

He leaned back in his chair. "Rashidi Light sought to change this, by whatever means necessary. Being one of the five great heroes who had founded Zenobia some three-hundred years ago, he proposed the idea that the people would listen if they were saved from a terrible threat by a virtuous hero. The very paragon of justice. That like they had back then, they would listen to anything that hero said. Not only would we be required to create this ultimate 'hero', but the grave threat for him or her to defeat as well."

"So they would listen to my commands", Destin noted, each word bitter. "And I would tell them... what, exactly?"

The seer raised one hand. "Know that we did not specifically have you in mind for the 'messiah'. In fact, Rashidi initially wanted to be the 'hero' himself. He would deliver the land he loved from chaos a second time. But King Marcus refused to cooperate. Though he was eventually succeeded, as all kings are, King Gran Zenobia was not much more inclined to such a scheme than his cousin. Rashidi was infuriated by their stubbornness, and he eventually departed on an extended trip to other nations."

"And at some point in his travels he found himself in the Zeteginean Highlands", Tristan guessed. "A culture of dedicated Nordic warriors that had much, much more to gain by becoming a conqueror nation than Zenobia."

"Exactly prince", Warren confessed. "To this day, I cannot say for sure if he intended the Zeteginean Empire to be the 'grave threat' or if he wished to control the will of the people in a far more direct fashion, or even if Gares might have been his latest attempt at a 'messiah'. His mind is closed to me now and some of his claims contradict each other. Whatever the case may be, Rashidi lost any semblance of stability after he had the other council members killed by Gares' armies, only sparing me because I showed the greatest support for his plans at the time."

Fixing his eyes back on Destin with the same defiant fire as the old days, he stroked his dust gray beard. "You can imagine my regret of that now. The Sages' council did pursue the same goals, but we were never willing to resort to bloodshed to do it. Sage Boltrano was particularly adamant on that score, and despite Rashidi's seniority the Dark Sage was the head of the council at the time."

Deneb looked confused. "Ooo-kay, but what does all this have to do with us?"

"With me", Destin corrected with a forlorn sigh. "I just wanted to lay it on the table. `So that everyone here would understand just how our benefactor played us when he put this rebellion together. I was to be the 'hero' in this scenario the Sages wrote. I would destroy the Empire, and everyone from Deneuve to Zenobia would worship me as their saviour. Those who weren't taken in by gratitude would soon realize us to be the only army left standing. Their only hope against the armies of Lodis to the far north. They would have no choice but to do as we said, unable to resist my power. All according to the Sages' plan for the world."

Pausing a moment to decide on an appropriate way of conveying displeasure and lacking a sword, he simply slammed one hand on the table. "That shall not happen. I saw the strings. I am no longer your weapon. I am my own person."

"So that's why...?", Tristan realized out loud, visualizing the pieces coming together.

"T'was a hard lesson learned", Warren said with no indication of remorse. It was simply his way. Not even with Destin would he shed that skin. "But I promise you I hold no further desire to force this agenda. Indeed, I think now that it must be embraced out of free will to be effective. It _cannot_ be forced- it only leads to further miseries, as we've all seen with the Empire. The Arcana reveals all... but it does not take into account people's feelings. Of what relevance are they in the grand scheme of the cosmos?"

"Plenty", Destin contended. "A single determined individual can set right a nation. Or destroy it all in the name of a broken heart. Were it not for Lans and Deneb, I would have been lost. Or worse."

"Gods be praised that you were not", Tristan echoed. He did not like all this grim talk among allies. "I'm certain the tale of your time away from the front lines is a worthy fable in and of itself, but now we must plan our schedule in regards to Allamoot. Is that alright?"

Seeing Deneb giggle, he mirrored that levity and was surprised to find success. "...There is one more thing, my prince."

Tristan looked well on the way to exasperation, sitting up from the table. "More? If you have additional issues with the Sage, you may resolve them at a later time."

"Nothing like that. I just... well, I need a new sword. _Kalanbolg_ broke when I was fighting Gares and I already gave Slust his weapon back. Fenril's using the _Brunhild_ now and no one has any others to spare."

The prince heaved an anxious laugh himself. "Is that all? There are a dozen supply chains we've set up these past months that would be happy to forge you a new blade, _general_ Faroda. One befitting of my finest warrior."

High praise, but for once Destin did not wave it down. For once he was actually _smiling_, accompanying Lans and Deneb out of the planning room together. "Thank you, prince. We shall return momentarily."

It was the connection that had done it, he realized after a moment's thought. It was Tristan's piece of the puzzle in the story. The realization of how 'Destiny's Child' had come to be. It wasn't an accident, not some random infant chosen by the Black Knight or the Sages or even fate.

It was _him_. He had started this twenty-five summers ago, dived headfirst into danger for the sake of another, and saved the prince. No one else. Like Deneb had told him in Antanjyl, the incredible sights and experiences he'd gone through nearly evened out the pain and heartache.

Scratch that, it did even things out, and then some. He knew it did.

Because he'd chosen it.

* * *

SLUMS OF ZENOBIA

Banya's target moved from cover to cover with the furtive haste of someone long-used to hiding in the shadows. She allowed him to continue on until he had reached the meeting site among the burned ruins of some long-forgotten brewery, only then stepping out to present the signet of Queen Floria.

He was young, she noted with surprise. He had to be only a messenger, bearing the robes of a Zenobian squire in the hopes that no one would think it odd. Banya's own robes had been torched long ago- she'd had no choice in order to survive the Empire's reign, but these ones had to be brand new, knitted from the memory of the boy's master.

"Zenobia Endures", she stated the code words before he could run. "Your master is a cautious one indeed."

"Long Life to Gran", the squire stammered. "And yes, he is. He has not lived this long by trusting just anyone. His best friend sold us out long ago."

"Bernard of Sharom", Banya guessed, and the lad nodded. "You have the 'Garnet'?"

With one last look around, he produced a milk-white stone, perfectly round. "The temple kept it for many years, but only he knew its true location. I was instructed not to give it to you unless you had a rebel leader with you to affirm."

"You want it, you got it hoss." A new voice intruded, descending from the rooftop where he'd lain in wait. Galnam Lyon looked at the stone with greed, but a look from Banya reminded him why they were there. They would never sell a Zodiac stone, regardless of how much profit it would fetch them for the war effort. Tristan had even gone to the extra effort of keeping each stone in a separate rebel-owned vault.

The squire, however, was not impressed. "And who are you? I had a feeling Destin and the prince might be busy, but I expected sir Lancelot or captain Ashe. Not some hobo. We've plenty of _those_ to go around."

Banya looked at Lyon's well-worn rags and sighed. "He is one of us, messenger. It is the unfortunate way of history that only a handful of names are truly remembered for their work. I certainly do not expect more than a footnote for my part in saving the prince."

"And don't call him Lancelot", Lyon muttered. "He hates that. See? I'm one of them, how else would I know that?"

But the messenger took his pose as a threat, pocketing the stone and raising one hand. "Don't try it. My master has instructed me in the use of holy magic. I shall kill you if I must."

Banya protested, but not fast enough to stop the beast lord's whip from snaking out and lashing the lad across the chest. In the time it took him to cry out, he had bound the upraised arm and put the skinning knife to his throat. "I am the greatest beast tamer in the Gods-damned world", Lyon growled into his ear. "Don't you _ever_ forget it, _pes'hyk_."

"Release him!", Banya demanded at once. "We did not come to fight."

"Only to get the stone", Lyon added, pressing the knife closer. "And this bastard refuses to pay up. You're just lucky Chamise isn't here, hoss. She doesn't like when people lie, yeah? Makes her hungry. Hungry for meat." Worming the other hand into the lad's pocket, he tossed the stone to Banya. "Check it. Make sure it's real. Wouldn't be the first time someone tried to cheat us, and I'm not talkin' Toad."

The royal nursemaid looked profoundly offended by the man's behaviour, but checked the stone regardless. "It is genuine", she announced after a moment. "I recognize it."

"Charlatans!", the squire burst out, straining against Lyon's hold but mindful of the knife. "You'll all be executed for this! Destin Faroda shall come and kill you!"

Banya regarded him wanly. "This is not how I wished to go about it, believe me. Mayhap the time shall come when Destin can come here and sort things out. This one _is_ a rebel, even if he is ruthless and lacking in manners."

"Manners are extra", the man chuckled, releasing his grip on the squire and letting him run. "Not something people pay for often, yeah? Besides, we got the goods didn't we?"

Banya did not respond. For a moment Lyon thought she was being prudish as usual but then he saw the thin shaft of wood jutting from her breast, and the way her eyes had shot wide. Death wide. He had barely registered it when the owner of the arrow swept down on them from the roof, carried by a rope as they reached down to pluck the stone from Banya's unresisting arms.

Lyon's whip cracked but struck bare stone. The second lash likewise, and then the assassin pulled herself up on the rope once more with a haughty laugh.

Leaving the beast tamer to yell for help. His anger over that, among other things, made it easy.

* * *

COASTAL FORTRESS ALLAMOOT

"Brinstone architecture", Overlord Hikash observed, flicking one finger off a wall in the command room. The dull red brickwork did not budge. "Forged from the ruins of pre-Zenobian cultures, inundated by seawater and harsh desert winds for centuries... We can only hope that shall be enough."

Lady Eribeth looked aghast enough that her discomfort no longer registered. " 'Enough'? If the vermin even manage to get this close, they've no experts in siege weaponry." Reclining back, she looked around the table as if daring one of the other Imperial commanders to challenge her.

Or more likely, simply stare at the way the mermaid's body sat coiled up in a large barrel of water- a extremely crude method of survival that she was willing to endure in order to sit in on Allamoot's defense planning session. In truth, many of them suspected there was _nothing_ she would not endure to get revenge on the mer-queen Porkyus' murderers, and many of the merfolk waiting in the waters downstairs felt the same way.

Only Overlord Hikash was not impressed by the mermaid leader's bravado, shrugging massive shoulders in dismissal. "As we found out for ourselves, when you have powerful-enough spellcasters, siege weaponry starts to look a little... outdated. Only at Castle Parcival was it required, after which they possessed powerful enough magic to do away with them. They can blast through these walls with their spells and make their own entryway. Remember, Zenobians have always been more skilled than we at magic."

"Then that shall be our target', Eribeth announced eagerly. "They shall have to make their way through the archipelago on boats to reach the walls, and my people shall be waiting for them from shore to shore. We shall devour them."

"Our best bet", commander Tashak agreed from the far side of the table. "I'd suggest a substantial portion of our flying divisions be placed under lady Eribeth's jurisdiction. If we can slay every rebel spellcaster before they can get across the water, we've already won. Nothing else can penetrate these walls. Shall we say, the airborne portion of the 8th?"

"With the 4th and 2nd legions watching the border for sneak attacks", Hikash agreed, turning to his Deva. "One of you must go out and meet them as well. If they believe us to be conserving all our strength for their arrival, they may simply bypass the Fortress altogether."

"I'll go", Previa stepped forward. Shrugged as if it was the natural choice. "A gauntlet, isn't it? We have to lure the bastards in, make them think they're avoiding a serious threat by not going through Komaya pass. I know these waters better than anyone here except the fishwives, and more importantly, I know people here."

Eribeth hissed at the slur, but Hikash looked cheered by the reminder that the 3rd Deva hailed from this province. "Do not expect too much of your smuggling contacts, Cale. Criminal scum, all of them. They _shall_ betray you given the chance, and we cannot afford them any leniency in exchange for their help. I shall not allow it, so do not ask."

"Wasn't expecting to", he nodded. "So the _haaswein_ see us at the pass and go the north route, make landfall... and then?"

"They shall meet my 9th Legion", Luvalon announced. "Like lady Eribeth, we shall target their spellcasters first. Of particular note are Saradin Carm and Tsuno Balakai, correct?"

Hikash nodded. "Be aware that they may garb others of their number in wizard's robes to confuse you. Take a moment to observe the enemy before you strike, and ensure that your target is the correct division." Taking in the surprise on the faces of each, the titanic man sighed. "I am aware all reports indicate the long-lost Prince Tristan has taken command of the rebellion, but Destin Faroda and Lans Hamilton have both rejoined them since. Such clever misdirection is Destin Faroda's trademark, and they know as well as we what shall be needed to penetrate these walls."

None of them argued the point. Each had known at least one of the many leaders who had faced the rebellion with a superior force in the past and wound up dead in their castle all the same. Every victory had bolstered the enemy's war chest further, along with their drive for victory. Usar Fergus, Kapella Radigan, Baron Apros, their own prince Gares... In a way, the Overlord was relieved to see the lack of a truly formidable enemy had not completely dulled their instincts. After what had happened at the capital cities of Malano and Zenobia, no one would ever laugh at the Zenobian revolutionary army again. That was over with, and for that he was glad.

"Organize your people", he ordered coldly, giving each one the eye in turn to make sure they knew he was dead serious. "Make certain they're aware that we face an enemy with every type of soldier, magic spell and advantage that we possess, save the strong walls of the fortress and the terrain. We must not fail."

With everyone else gone about their work, the two hulking statues in the room who were normally completely silent during these planning sessions stirred once more. "Ah. Quite exciting, isn't it brother?"

"Ah. It's exhilarating, brother. For far too long have we slept."

"Sleep worthy of the dead brother. Far too long. It's quite a thrill."

"We can scarcely wait for our turn brother. If the rebels don't make it here we'll be very disappointed."

"That would be most disheartening truly brother, if the rebels do not make it here and give us our turn."

"Yes brother, truly. Because if the rebels did not make it here, we would not have the chance to kill them all."

"Yes that is what master Radish commanded of us, did he not, brother? That we kill them all?"

"Indeed, that is exactly what master Radish commanded. That we kill them all. So let us hope that some of them do get here shall we, brother? So that we can kill them all. It's quite a thrill..."

* * *

FLOATING PRISON DIASPOLA

Without its prisoners or the signs of war echoing across its length, Norn Dias' home seemed strangely peaceful compared to the last time the rebels had visited it, a pristine countryside nearly devoid of its former population.

More fittingly, it was one of the few other inmates who had joined the rebellion who had journeyed there for a rendevous with the rebel commanders- the beast tamer Macchus' group, seconded by a discordant Yushis. Lans had greeted the young angel warmly and the news of Mizal's secret... tolerably. "Just so long as he understands who Lancelot was in the ancient tales when he is older", he conceded in good humour. "I can only hope that blood does not run true."

Yushis glowered. She had hoped that Lans would be the father. "Rashidi was a celebrated hero for centuries before becoming the rogue you know today."

"So I keep hearing. But I was not speaking of the Sage."

A deeper insult still, but Destin would not allow such grudges to be dug on such a beautiful day. "I would apologize to her", he suggested. "Did she not save you after your supposed 'death' at the Valley of Kastro?"

"So she did", Lans agreed primly, cutting the conversation short- it was drawing dangerously close to the final truth, which Destin may not yet have realized. "The point is moot in any case. The traitor is dead."

"Hallelujah", Yushis bit out. But one of her nature could not stay that way for long. "I trust you've patched things up with that priest girl and the others who were at Antalia? They don't consider you to be a usurper?"

The angel knight shrugged. "Most of them never did. Miss Aisha has forgiven me for the moment. And sir Destin has now stepped down to allow Prince Tristan full-time leadership. He remained on as an advisor like Warren and princess Rauny, for Tristan has no military experience so speak of and another crucial battle is fast approaching."

"Fort Allamoot", Yushis nodded. "Macchus was wondering why the Imperial forces in the Tundra were so weak. Tamed a frost giant too while we were there. A big one by the name of Boreas."

"Their full strength gathered", Destin confessed. "Our scouts say the merfolk have returned to the Imperial banner. Fortunately, not all of them agreed- we've actually had some come ashore at Balmorra and ask to speak with Canopus. He's over there now, explaining why we had to kill their queen."

There was stunned silence from Yushis. Surely they all recognized that the Wind Rider would not relish such a task. But then mayhap he desired a chance to confront old ghosts and absolve himself of an entire race's collective hatred.

"It has to start to somewhere", he offered meekly. Canopus was not the only one seeking penance for past deeds here. "Gods know I have no intention of exterminating the mermaids, nor does the prince. So we have to either make peace with them at some point or drive them out to the ocean, and this Eribeth sounds like she'll never be driven out."

The young Seraphim had no idea what to say- she had never paid close attention to history on the merfolk and from where they had originated. Rather, she held more interest in Canopus. "He brought them up to Muspelm?"

"With sir Slust's permission. Master Walf has ever sought a true home for his people, who have long been outcasts."

"I like Slust. He's the only one of the Sky Knights with a gram of sense", Yushis declared, looking around for the telltale dark red armour.

"Back on his island, rebuilding the damage", Destin informed her. "But he said he'll join us for the assault when we're ready, don't worry... It's actually Fenril I'm worried about. She seemed adamant that we go liberate the last Sky Island. She might-"

"Go off on her own without anyone's help or permission?" Yushis' voice was teasing, almost like a more wholesome Deneb. "Sounds exactly like her. Don't worry- I'll go up there and keep an eye on her. Maybe try and convince her to work with you guys more often."

"T'would be appreciated", Lans nodded, though he personally considered Organa's ruler to be a lost cause. It was not often that he met another warrior who was so aloof and chilly in manners that he would notice those traits reflected in himself to a lesser degree, particularly a woman.

He must have looked even more morose than usual, because Destin reached over to knock on his helmet and playfully gestured him over to a new clearing, a wide space between two sheer cliffs with more than a little resemblance to the Valley of Kastro's winding passages.

A number of other rebel warriors were already gathered there: Lans saw the new bronze samurai armour of Selec Fubuki, the Highland grace of Kaus Debonair, Captain Ashe, Prince Tristan standing off to the side without a weapon, and princess Rauny Vinzalf beside the Deva, her pike at the ready.

"Interesting", he managed to remark. "Is there some town around here we neglected to liberate?"

"Not exactly", Tristan grinned wily. "Draw your sword, knight."

He took _Granbane_ out and watched the others follow suit. Lacking in arms, Destin had borrowed a sword from the treasury. _Eskendale _was its name, and its flame enchantment burned the air as it glided despite an unfamiliar hand grip. He had shocked all who had journeyed to Antanjyl with him when he had given another Deva's long sword to Debonair, to replace the one which Lans himself had destroyed. "Figaro's weapon. He called it the _Durandal_", he had commented at the time. "Not very original. You may change the name of the blade if you wish."

But the 1st Deva had kept it the same, and now looked as deadly with his late friend's weapon as he had with his own long sword and armour. Everyone had their weapons ready now, and Lans could only guess at the purpose until the prince made two of his fingers into a shockingly loud whistle. Without warning, Rauny leaped forth keening a Highland war cry, beating down Lans' guard with enthusiasm. Around them, the others were also squaring off against partners with no seeming pattern to the selection, Tristan against a reluctant Destin.

_Now_ he understood from his time in the royal guard- this was a drill. An insane, spur-of-the-moment drill between their best fighters. It looked closer to the chaos they had orchestrated to reach the Ogre Galf's castle, but it soon became apparent that none of them were aiming to kill. Merely a dance of blades with no one getting hurt. He pushed back with equal strength, wary of the other end of the pike which so many Imperials had learned to whip around even as the bladed end was parried or used to parry.

Then Tristan whistled again, and suddenly Lans found himself facing Ashe. His old mentor did not let up even for a moment, and for once he was pleased to face an opponent who used the exact same weapon and style. He had been practising in their time apart, but still Lans became apprehensive as the duel wore on- none of the captain's strikes held the punch they once had. He felt bad the moment his instincts made him slide through the man's guard and tag him in the neck plate, and worse when he realized that Ashe was_ coughing_...

They switched again. This time Tristan joined the battle himself, making Lans' duel against Debonair a two-on-one- the only way he would be able to compete with them and learn anything at all first hand.

Despite months of malnourishment the Deva had lost none of the terrible speed and strength Lans remembered from the battle of Zenobia, always spinning this way and that, letting his free arm and legs become weapons of equal threat. Tristan met each blow with grace, though he must have known himself outmatched, and Lans filled in the gaps where he was weak. Together they fought the Zeteginean to a draw, a signal for the rest of them to cease as well.

"Well done, gentlemen", the Deva said.

Looking up from his own sparring with Rauny, Destin eyed his old foe with interest. "Could be better. If you don't mind my asking, what is your stance on the Embrace of Freya? You didn't use it when we fought last time."

At once, Kaus looked ashamed. "I... I was always too scared to use it. I'm not saying I _can't_, but never have I dared. Master Hikash says that the first time is always the riskiest. After Figaro's father went mad from it, I..."

"I see". It wasn't hard to grasp the fear that came with the technique, nor the way neglecting it contradicted a Deva's vows to defend their people at any cost. "And what was your trial?", Lans asked.

Debonair laughed roughly. "A trifling matter compared to my colleagues, though the trial is different for each individual. We journey alone to the far reaches, the very peak of our land, and from the _aurora borealis_ our trial emerges. Mine was merely a battle against countless identical masked swordsmen. The odds were impossible. Countless strikes made it through and carved my body into uselessness. A thousand enemies buried me with their bodies, but I continued to fight for weeks until they were all slain. When the mists faded, I realized that all my wounds were completely illusionary. I had been fighting _air,_ and for only a few hours."

"Pain training", Ashe observed, remembering Destin's own past. "There used to be herbs which could do that. So I'd guess that Figaro's trial involved explosions in some way."

"Would that we could ask him", the Deva slumped down. "But why do you say that?"

"Something Luvalon said", Lans continued. "His trial involved storms, corresponding with the way his _Niebelung_ grants him control over lightning, and yours forms a giant flying Blade."

The mention of Luvalon's name only made Kaus antsier. "Pray do _not_ ask me to face that one when the time comes, prince. That is one fight I cannot possibly win. He would slay me in a heartbeat."

"You underestimate yourself, old friend", Tristan reassured him. "Or you overestimate your colleague because he is ranked 4th. If sir Slust says we have a chance, we have a chance. Even the 5th is only mortal."

_Old friend? Since when are they so close?_

When Rauny did not say anything about that, Destin peered closer. "No? Is there no desire for us to grant the Supreme Overlord a chance for mercy, princess?"

"_Geine-dasghivch ko lir_", she replied.

"Hikash has never surrendered to anyone", Debonair pointed out, being one of the only ones to understand her. "Her father- and my teacher- is a paragon of professionalism, gentlemen, and even if he believed his chosen side to be in the wrong he would not relent. In fact, I believe he does."

Satisfied with that answer, Destin turned his attention to the samurai master. "Not a word from you all day. I thought you'd gotten better at that, or are you simply gathering the strength to try and kill me again?"

Fubuki said nothing as usual, merely turning and heading back up the vale. In his wake stood Deneb and Norn waiting with healing herbs. Raising an arm devoid of injuries, Tristan merely chuckled. "Oh ye of little faith."

"Don't joke", Norn chided him. "There's always a chance. We were watching from the cliff. You looked good-"

"For a prince", Tristan finished wryly. "I'm getting better, right?"

"Much", Debonair provided. Unlike his late friend, he lacked much of the Highlander's contempt for those weaker than himself. No one looked down on Fichs Tristoram for not being a top-notch warrior like his new allies were. No one mayhap, except himself.

To his left, Deneb bandaged Destin's own mild injuries with care, taking a closer look at the chest wound he still carried from Gares. Watching closely, Lans noted how both seemed afraid to touch too closely. "I'd say go to the infirmary until your chest is better", she said, "but that's not happening any time soon, is it now?"

"Afraid not", the rebel grimaced. "I made an oath to the prince. I shall see this rebellion through to the end."

"And then?"

Uncertainty fell on him like a shroud, but only for a moment. "Then we can be together. For as long as I live."

The witch shook her head in disbelief, only giving him a light kiss. "You and your oaths. I'm starting to remember now why so few people keep 'em. They're annoying as hell sometimes. But I'll take that one for what it's worth. I really _was_ impressed back there, you know. That Icecloud spell, by-product of a tempered heart."

Destin shrugged and touched his belly scar. "I still could not win in the end. Not without everyone's help."

"You couldn't defeat a guy what, twenty years your senior empowered by an aura like the Ogres have", Deneb remarked in exasperation. "A guy so ruthless that he was going to destroy two freaking _countries_ for the lulz."

He frowned. "What is this 'Lulz'? Is that another Zeteginean God?"

The witch giggled. "Not exactly, though 'he' does have some worshippers that live solely for 'him'. Point is, you stopped him. You stood up to his infernal aura when no one else could. When word of that gets out, the bards'll start their mojo. You'll be talked about forever."

"How nice for you", a new voice drawled. "They can write a great big book with your name on every page."

Both looked up. Lyon stood before them, his golden beard ragged and eyes narrowed in on his former leader.

"Hey", Deneb managed at last. "How's the Zodiac hunt going, Dr. Doolit-"

"Lost the stone", the beast tamer scowled, more angry than Destin had ever seen him. "The nursemaid's recovering at the castle and we need to_ talk_, hoss."

Several of the others had now realized all was not well, and watched as Destin stood. "So talk. What happened to the 'Garnet'?"

"Emily Cashel", he replied just as curtly as before. "Rashidi's spy, and now assassin. Peachy. We'd have had it anyway if I'd just gotten my dues. Having a fun little spar out here in the wilderness are we? The all-time greats?"

Fortunately, Lyon did not seem to be expecting an answer, as no one could give one. "_Kree-ath, _all of you. Think you can just have your little private members' club and no one would notice? A year I've fought and still _no one knows my Gods-damned NAME!"_

"We know your name", Tristan whispered carefully after the shout's echo had dissipated. "Galnam Lyon, mercenary and professional beast tamer. One of our best."

"One of", the man emphasized. "And yet no one bothered letting me into this little soiree you had goin' on here. What'sa matter? Didn't think I could handle it?"

"A purely impulsive decision", the prince said, trying in vain to calm him. "Had you been there you would've been invited. We just-"

"Just forgot about me is what you did. I want double the usual now. Double, or I go squeal about our plan for Allamoot."

Lans had his blade drawn by the last sentence, but once again Tristan refused to allow dispute among them so easily, spreading his arms and darting between them. "You shall have it then. Shall you prefer it now, or later?"

"Prince...?"

Understanding their confusion, he shook his head. "NO, captain. I want no dissent among us. Compared to what Toad attempted this is nothing."

"Prince, that is not worth paying so much to a low-"

He'd let his guard down; Lyon's fist struck him down as if the metal was not even there. "A what? A low-life? Gutter scum? That's all I am to you pricks?"

"You know how he feels about soldiers of fortune", Destin said carefully, stepping up without drawing the flame sword. "You deliberately provoked him. And if you strike my friend again you shall regret it."

The beast man's gnarled face did not change much, but even in such a rage he could sense the shift. Everyone else nearby was ready to fight if he continued, and no amount of ego could win through. "Must be _nice_. To have the protection of being friends with Destiny's Child _and_ Prince Tristan, eh hoss? Tell me what it's like some time."

Fuming, he stalked off. Once a cleric had been found for Lans, Destin found himself facing Deneb again, remaining behind as the rest left to their duties.

"Well played, love", she said carefully. "That could've gotten messy. What crawled up _his_ butt?"

Destin thought for a moment. To his private shame, he'd forgotten many of the people whose hearts he'd read freely before his... experience. Now he dared not be so invasive of people's privacy. Only his enemies were deserving of such mind games, and Galnam Lyon was not an enemy. "Pride", he guessed. "Wounded pride. All this fighting might have made us forget that a lot of our people have no respect for his kind. And I'm not talking about his being from Allamoot."

"Saradin knows", the witch offered. "He says Lyon did some kind of ritual to break his statue impression, and now he knows everything about him."

"That", he pointed out, "is another thing I hope never to do. Saradin's a Truthsayer, he won't have any choice but to tell us. Those two loathed each other even before now, I hate to think what would happen if we brought him into it."

"Loathed him because he knows the truth maybe", she mused. "Besides, they're just playacting. I've seen it before."

"Maybe." Tapping the plating over his heart to indicate when a subject should be dropped, he cast his gaze out over the west horizon. Less than a hundred baums away in Lyon's province of birth, the enemy would be marshaling their defences. They would not be wasting time dealing with individual members' problems.

"What you suggest is too close to what Rashidi does. What I _used_ to do. Read people's hearts, expose their innermost secrets, push whatever buttons you need to make them do what you want. That's how he made that poor girl into his assassin. That may be how he convinced Empress Endora and her son to do his bidding, and it's most certainly how he weaselled information on the Sky Islands out of Mizal."

Deneb drew back from this. Anyone could see how close this was getting to a condemnation of her own methods. "If you can quit that cold turkey, so can I. At least until my next life. I should warn you- it's not so easy to stop."

"So I gathered", he offered his bravest smile. "It just goes on, doesn't it?"

"Forever, Destin", she said sadly. "For the powerful, the greatest fight is against your own temptation. The stronger you become, the more you're tempted. There's things I've never made someone do with my... ahem... 'talents'. But I'd lie to say I never thought of it."

"No one said you were a saint, lover", he said. "There yet remains people back at Valparin that want you burned at the stake."

She shrugged. "Let 'em. No reason for me to go back there anyway." Always trying much the same way as Tristan to brighten a grim scene, she then stood and produced a new item, a round circle of dough with white cream decorating it. "Your birthday, isn't it?"

It wasn't. The bloodline records had been burned long ago- no one could know exactly when the Farodas had given birth to their son. But today was just as likely as any other day, and he dipped one hand into the ginger cake, licked his fingers and laughed. "Why not? Your work?"

"You kidding? I haven't baked a thing for a dozen lifetimes. It's from Organa", she remarked as they sat down. "Guess you could call it 'angel food cake', eh? Eh? My division was searching for Zodiac stones like you ordered, and there was this weird priest who gave us cake as compensation."

He laughed, taking in another delicious mouthful. "And here they had me believing Organa's angels were snobs. Mayhap they like you."

Shrug. "They can't hate us forever, even if their leader could. It's not like with Zenobia; Tristan gave them every- OW!"

Confused, Destin leaned forward to see the witch clutching her jaw, the pain only minor. Clearing away more of the cream with his thumbs, he could only now make out the solid core of the cake, far tougher than any baked item had a right to be. Searching further, he could scarcely believe what he saw.

"Ow-ow-ow", Deneb repeated. "That hurt. Okay, that's _not_ funny. Who bakes a freaking _rock_ into their- whoa."

A few more smudges later, the truth could not be denied. The stone remained marred by icing and bits of dough, but the symbols were unmistakable. "Gods... The 'Pearl'.", Destin breathed in wonder. "They baked a Zodiac stone right into the cake!"

"One way of hiding it from Rashidi I guess", the witch groaned, palming her jaw once more. "Owies. They could've told me. Happy birthday, I guess."

Seeing that same good humour in her stance, he laughed along with it. "That is officially the best birthday present I can remember getting."

"Second best", she corrected. Then they fell to the ground and rolled together in the hills.

* * *

VALLEY OF KASTRO, NORTH END

Warren Moon enjoyed raising pets because they did not conspire. No worgen or griffin lay awake secretly plotting to murder others of their kind. Any hostility they bore lay out in the open and was usually understandable.

This, he told himself, was the reason why he had travelled here to view the dust bowl where Pheles and Ruclomb had met their demise. The valley had been swept clean by the flood and storm, the carrion-pickers already finished their dirty work on the dozens of bodies, rebel, Imperial, and wildlife, strewn across its length. The tides had subsided back to a more reasonable stream cutting along the lowest portion, and already some of the nomad tribes had begun to rebuild their homes along the cliff walls.

As was typical of late, he acted without exactly knowing why, or least without thinking all the details over. There was a flat stone near his feet, and the Sage wordlessly threw it from the cliff, to clatter on the salt below.

"They were good companions", a voice called. "Much as we wizards pretend to be above such crude attachments."

Saradin Carm, looking like a solemn mirror of the Sage. In fact the golems he had fashioned from Albeleo's lab had begun to break down, requiring him to send them to Balmorra where his people would give them a rebuild. No such mercy could be given to dogs, even two-headed ones.

"Better than any human", Warren agreed finally. "And even Rashidi felt the need to create pets of his own. You know this better than I."

"Pets and pupils", the Truthsayer agreed. "In light of his current agenda, I've often wondered what he saw in the three of us. Kapella, Albeleo, and myself." The other wizard snickered, remembering old jokes. "Particularly Kapella. Did he truly require more competent magical allies to help him control the Empire... or might Rashidi have been searching for equals?"

Warren had no answers. He stared out across the salt flats towards the nomad dwellings, trying to piece together what had happened here. For too long had he spent learning of events through the Arcana- it took actually being there to remind of the grim reality. "The boy as well, though if you tell anyone that I shall simply deny it. Never have I felt strong desire for any woman. But I would very much have liked to have a son. Someone bright and energetic whom I could show the mistakes of the world... so that he might avoid them."

"Some pitfalls a man must experience himself to understand", Saradin offered neutrally. "He made out better than you've any right to expect, considering what he's been through. If you truly wish to help our cause with your Arcana powers, then mayhap you might help _me_."

The Moon Sage turned, puzzled. "You, Truthsayer? You are the foremost pupil of Rashidi, and younger than I. Your magical power surpasses my own."

"Exactly. For many years he was my master. He taught us three everything we know of the various branches of magic. Knowing what he's become... what he was... I cannot help but suspect he had much more in mind for us. I must know, Warren Moon. I must know if my connection to my old master shall bring harm to the rebellion. And if so, then I must take my leave."

Warren regarded him closer now. The bearded man who had made Balmorra a thriving community of scholars on his teachings of kindness and honesty now looked genuinely frightened. Frightened of _himself_, not of whenever Albeleo's new body might surface to give them grief.

"Finally", he grumbled out. "An excuse to get out of that dingy castle. Gran truly was an architectural dunce. I'll set up a Tarot reading for you when I can, but I should mention that ever since I saw Destin in my readings, ones pertaining to anyone else have been... erratic as of late. As if the Arcana is having difficulty letting go of Destiny's Child."

"The Arcana", Saradin asked him teasingly. "Or you?"

* * *

CASTLE XANADU

Empress Endora had given up trying to fight off the visions. They came to her at will now, and some deep-rooted part of her enjoyed them. By ignoring the building fever she could travel to a land of make-believe where the rebellion did not exist, where her husband and son were still alive, loved and loving.

It was the former who had dominated as of late, despite the fresh pain of Gares' loss. Gareth's presence made it all numb, and the hallucinations all the more creative and intriguing the further away reality fell. It was a dream from which the Black Queen did not wish to wake, and whenever she was not required to give orders she would spend long periods buried in the sheets of her bedchamber, seeking suffocation.

No one would call the Empress sentimental. Though independently minded and willing to defy the Emperor in his time, she had closely followed the tenets that Zeteginea had been founded upon. Rulings from back when the Highlanders had been closer to a tribe of hunters than a true nation. Their people had lived and died entirely by the skill of their hunters to ward off predators and secure food and furs from equally lethal prey.

All the while fighting the greatest threat to their survival- the bitter cold, which had gone on to be respected as its own deity, so prevalent it became. Prayers would be given to Freya that the worst of the ice storms pass them by, but also resolve to face whatever the Goddess chose to send their way with courage and strength. Even should they be frozen where they stood by chilling winds, they would not shame themselves with simpering complaints before death.

Thinking of how weak she might appear to the Highlanders of that time period, Endora forced herself upright in bed once more. It had become uncomfortably warm, the sheets more like a trap. Adherence to the traditions of the old days, eschewing many of the comforts of modern life was part of what had made Gaerth Endora so respected in his day.

That, and a complete lack of mercy. This sprang not from malice as many foreigners had accused _her_ of, but from an absolute conviction every bit as strong as his devotion to Freya; that humans, men and women alike, were inherently defiant. They would only surrender their autonomy to a larger community when the only alternative was death, or else the most severe of torment. Allow them the slightest luxury, he would swear to her, grant them food and drink and shelter enough to become comfortable, and they shall kill and steal to gain more of it.

He believed this impulse was born if not from greed then the simple cowardly fear of ever losing it. Treachery was the greatest insult imaginable, but the late Emperor had suffered it enough times to spot the signs even among his circle of friends and followers.

He had never spotted it in the woman he loved. She had admired greatly him for such conviction. Yet this rigid outlook could not spare him from Death's touch. Possessed of tremendous wealth and the mightiest army in the lands of the south- if not the known world- Emperor Gaerth Endora could not stave off a simple illness that had started as a mere cough.

Could the Roshians have saved him, if they'd truly tried to? Endora had no doubts that even then, the clash between their faiths had been strong enough to breed ill will on both sides. The handful of clerics who they had forced under duress to examine him of course would not give it their full effort. Too little, too late, and Endora found herself wondering if resentment had fuelled the speed with which she had conquered the so-called 'kingdom of the Gods' in return.

"It makes no difference", she snarled to herself. "None." They might have conquered in the posh fashion of Malanian merchant lords overtaking a trade franchise and still faced nothing but hate and distrust from Zenobia and her satellite nations. Their ridiculous pride had caused them to hang onto the memory of their king for longer than he had actually ruled. To glorify Gran Zenobia as a martyr, a symbol of every crime they charged the Empire with. And the Highlanders, warriors to the core, could not allow any country to defeat them in battle and go unpunished.

She did feel slightly sorry for those lands that lay between the two feuding giants- Deneuve, Malano and Kasolat had all been caught up in it, forced to lend their own resources and Orders to the cause of one or the other. Yet there had been no choice- the Holy Lodis showed no signs of stopping their own manifest destiny. If they chose to strike now, while the Empire and rebellion's armies were both fully committed to destroying the other... well. In that event she hoped that Destin Faroda would have time to regret all the destruction he'd caused before he saw his friends die or become enslaved along with the rest of the lands of the south.

That was the worst case scenario, she reminded herself. Best case was that Hikash triumphed where the others had failed, and that her family would be avenged. Yes, her family. She could no longer deny the resentment- grief had brought it to the fore like a hammer breaking a dam. If that made her 'evil' in the eyes of history, well... that was just too bad. She knew what she wanted. She would pray to Freya for it, starting now. No more delusion; Gaerth had never lied, particularly not to himself.

Just out the window, she could hear the precision marching of the 1st Legion's soldiers, still following protocol even without Hikash to direct them. No rebel assassin would reach her here; even the boldest of aerial attacks would be blunted and destroyed long before they reached her chambers.

So there was absolutely no reason for her to shiver. It was certainly not cold today by Highland standards.

No reason at all. _None._

* * *

SKY ISLE SHANGRILA

Two productive weeks after their initial meeting, the rebel leaders had all returned to the meeting hall in Shangrila citadel, mostly rebuilt from the collateral destruction Gares had wreaked upon him into a truly austere-seeming bastion of marble. Tristan, Destin, Rauny, Lans, Canopus, Saradin, Debonair, Slust and many others had all made it back in time, making Ashe's absence all the more conspicuous and Destin all the more worried.

As agreed, Tristan began. He had purchased a map of Allamoot and its surrounding region from the pirates who dwelled there, and now spread the yellowed parchment across the table for all to see.

"The coastal fortress Allamoot is the gateway to the Empire", the prince said, though for most it was merely a reminder. "It divides the massive gulf of Rallibel and the Dahlmud desert to its west, with sheer mountains acting as natural walls for many baums to the north and south. If any save our flying units are to reach Deneuve or Zeteginea, Allamoot must fall."

"The enemy knows this", Debonair picked up, palming the huge stretch of water and islands to the fortress' eastern front, which looked closer than anything to a miniature version of the Kastolatian Sea- a vast basin of water with dozen of islands and port towns thronging it. "Many divisions of fliers and merfolk have already been deployed here to flush the pirates out. I have heard you experienced some difficulties with the merfolk before?"

"To put it mildly", Canopus confessed. "We possessed limited naval capabilities then. Fortunately that is no longer entirely the case- two dozen of the merfolk who asked to speak with me have now asked to join us, under the banner of a Nixie named Tyne. They have pet octopi with them and a single Kraken. I believe them to be sincere."

"I've also heard tales", Saradin began carefully, forcing himself not to say 'from Ashe'. "That there was a rock golem who followed you to the Isle Avalon by walking along the bottom of the sea. I can instruct mine to do the same."

"All possibilities", Tristan nodded, glad to see Destin had not yet shouted him down for making a foolish statement. "Here's another- the pirates of Stun Creek never were big fans of the Empire's attempts to crack down on their smuggling operations, but now they're angry enough to start an all-out war. They've volunteered a number of ships to transport our ground divisions to the fortress, so long as we pay them well and they aren't required to fight on land."

"Then, prince", Lans proposed simply. "Just what shall we do with all these resources?"

Tristan gave Destin and Rauny a firm look- they had been discussing their own plans in private for days already. He pointed to the point where the west land mass jutted out across the bay.

"Here. Allamoot relies on the mountain range of El Rosario as its greatest natural shield. Anyone who gets across the water must enter at the harbor town of Laseive, or sail all the way down to Komaya and travel half a day across harsh desert before reaching the fortress walls. Komaya pass is also a naval choke point- they'll likely post their heaviest defences there. After we get across the desert and over the walls... we still have as many as seven legions to deal with. Three times our number, or worse."

"We have done it before", Lans vowed. "In the beginning our army was less than one hundred, less than a single legion and far worse trained. Now look at us."

"Look at _them_", Destin counterpointed with a look at his brother. "We know from Debonair now that their Legions increase in general competence from 12th to 1st. The 1st is said to hold the most elite _Einherjar_-ranked fighters who are not themselves Deva, though Debonair tells me they normally follow protocol and guard the capital, Xanadu. That yet leaves the 2nd, 4th, 7th, 8th, the 9th, and the ground divisions of the 3rd."

The prince nodded. "We can't be certain if they shall move out to engage on the journey there or wait until we breach the fortress walls. We require a way to prevent Hikash from using the latter option, since even our entire army could not win against their massed power."

"So that rumour's true?", Canopus asked. "The Supreme Overlord has been sighted?"

"Yes. That's one more thing we must work out a way to prevent, since the Overlord practically made his reputation by wading into huge swarms of enemies, and making them flee in fear after slaying his first dozen."

Everyone saw Debonair shudder at the memory, but he forced his hand up. "In my years training under Master Hikash, he demonstrated only a few weaknesses... but they do exist, gentlemen. I can only imagine what must be going through his head right now- he would gladly join our side, were it not for his oath."

"Yes, and if wishes were fishes, the oceans would flood out", Saradin shouted him down. Beside him, Rauny fidgeted. "He won't turn. He might not pull any cheap tricks on us like some would... but that's about as far as his good will goes. Face him at Allamoot, and we'll live to regret it. Or not."

"Fair enough", Destin yielded, glancing toward the patch of desert to the fortress' south end. "Let those 'cheap tricks' be exclusively our province then. If that riles him up, makes him play more aggressively, so much the better."

Relieved, the prince peered once more into his finest general's voids. "You have a plan?"

He found no doubts there. "Always."

* * *

FORT ALLAMOOT, EASTERN BARRACKS

"Sir! SIR!"

Hikash Vinzalf did not need to be told to look up. The massive piece of rock fairly dominated the skies, rivers somehow endlessly spilling off the edges to form extremely localized showers in various spots across the desert floor, and trails of soaked sand indicating that the thing was moving.

There was only one possible explanation. Calling an emergency meeting, he kept one eye on the skies the entire time. "The Sky Islands", he announced. "One of the _rebel-controlled_ Sky Islands. _Freyashalas_. I had thought Rashidi was merely playing us, but it looks as though they are real after all."

His staff had various things to say about that, but thankfully none of them wasted time disbelieving- the truth was literally right there in front of them. "Not Shangrila", the 3rd division's leader pointed out. That was Banna, an accomplished but normally withdrawn Dragon Master in green armour and long red hair. "I saw it when prince Gares plundered my unit for air-capable troops. This one is smaller." He was able to say this with a surprisingly small amount of bitterness. No matter the plan, with Allamoot's terrain his legion would be staying here to hold their ground.

"I've already dispatched the aerial components of our legions", Luvalon stated. "If they are outmatched they have orders to withdraw, but given last estimates of enemy strength the rebels would have to have their entire army positioned up there to fight them off."

"A drop", Previa suggested at his side. "Just like what happened with Malano, I hear. They think they can just dump their whole army down on us like the garbage they are."

Nobody laughed. "Then we must consider the chance that this is a feint, a diversion while they attack by sea."

"Or the real thing", commander Tashak spoke up. "I've heard tell some nasty rumours about how prince Gares met his fate at Shangrila. Folks seem to think he was planning to drop the thing onto Zenobia."

Hikash's first instinct was to dismiss it as a rebel lie, but then he looked back up at the knife of rock in the clouds and thought again. "I had believed the rebels to be above such barbarity. But there is the chance that upon seeing that tactic, they've given up trying to hold the so-called moral high ground."

"Still not equal to what Gares did", Tashak contended, eyes wide with the sheer disbelief that he was talking about this. "This one's smaller. Won't make so big a crater and it's in a less-crowded area. Not that it makes a bit of difference to everyone here."

"Indeed", Luvalon said. "Let us focus on the realities, shall we? If that is their aim, it is imperative that we prevent its success. I shall ride up there myself- do you have any steeds remaining, Banna?"

"Take your pick, sir Deva", the 3rd legion commander offered. "I have Silvers, Golds, and a single Red in the stable. Gares took all my Blacks."

"Then I shall remain here", Hikash picked up. "In case this is a rebel 'air drop' after all. What of miss Eribeth's group?"

"I'll sail out of Komaya and help them coordinate", Previa offered. "I'll bring half the 4th along with me, try and take out their casters like we discussed. This is our chance to destroy their leadership as well. I'll send word when I spot Destin Faroda. That will be the main assault force- he's such a glory hound he _has_ to go with the main attack."

"Indeed", Tashak noted. "It's imperative we stay in touch across water- Prochon's ninjas won't do. Everyone bring at least three of our own wizards to send messages such as that. I can already tell you the pirates who roam these waters shan't be happy to see you, shall do everything to sabotage you. Especially if the rebels have paid them off."

"Go", Hikash commanded simply. "Fail now, and our homeland lies open to conquest by a ruthless foe. We must do our best to penetrate their deceptions, to anticipate where the decisive strike shall fall. Freya be with you all."

Quite suddenly the time had come, general Previa realized. They would all head for their planned defensive zones to face the enemy attacks, and none of the Empire's remaining generals would see each other again until the fight- and the fate of their home- was won... or lost.

"No pressure or anything. C'mon fishwife", he murmured to his beligerent co-commander before setting off down the steps to the harbour. "Time for us to face Destiny, eh?"

And in the heart of the fortress, the Gemini Twins waited.

* * *

A/N:

And I'm back. If this is any indication, the last remaining chapters will be shorter than usual (18 pages on my word processor versus the usual 20), but I think that's a good thing since going back over some of the first ones I find them to be kind of long-winded. Writing some of the longest chapters of any author here excepting possibly Jeremy, the author of the Warcraft II novelizations, I think one of my main flaws as a writer is to go over things in unnecessary detail, but hopefully I can be a bit more to the point for the huge amount of combat just ahead.

Regardless of how much detail I choose to go into, I don't think I'll be able to give every single character a complete background. Once again I am open to suggestions for characters my reviewers would like to get more 'screentime' as the end draws near. As you might be able to tell I've replaced the 'Fool's Journey' passages with a defining piece of wisdom from a character who will be getting a good amount of it in that chapter, with Warren being the first. Fitting, since he's the seer that started all this.


	25. The Siege of Allamoot Part 1

**Disc**: Tactics Ogre is the property of Enix.

* * *

**The Siege of Allamoot (Part 1)**

* * *

"_I didn't get into this for the money, ya know. Not originally. Just wanted some respect, hoss. Some way to be bigger than just some guy who could talk to animals. I had my pets. They were my only friends. They all liked me, I liked them, and that was enough._

_Then I met Destin. A kid playing at rebellion where a bunch of grown men failed. I didn't realize until Shangrila that to me, this was more than just a job. It was a chance to be somebody. Somebody they'll talk about. Somebody they'll never forget. Somebody special, who folks would finally respect._

_A hero? Nah. I'm just a bounty hunter who happened to be on the right side at the right time."_

_-Galnam Lyon, Beast Lord_

* * *

AIRSPACE NEAR SKY ISLE SHIGULD

The enemy Tiamat gave the high death shriek that had never failed to gouge at Fenril's heart before falling into the clouds, taking its rider along with it. Satisfied after three such losses that this singular opponent- double if one counted her own Gold Dragon mount- was far tougher to slay than the numbers suggested, the remainder of the Imperial fliers turned and flew for their base.

And Fenril of Ice was satisfied as well. Her skills in the realm of mounted aerial combat had not been dulled by years of peace. In fact there was only one being she could recall as being more skilled a 'dragon rider' than she- the very being she had come here to save. Fogel the Cursed, last of the Sky Knights to be freed by result of little more than the luck of the draw.

Taking one last wheel around to check if any yet remained to block her path, she was chagrined to see a single Seraphim yet lingered. _No doubt Fogel forced them to help the Imperial dogs defend their capture. _A ploy more effective with him than with Slust or herself, for even those who lived under his protection feared the final Sky Knight's wrath. With good reason.

That being the case, she would make this kill quick and painless. Charging with a blast of frigid cold already gathering in Kamuul's mighty jaw, she turned aside just in time when the enemy raised her hands to form an oval sphere- the Sky Island gesture of peace.

The angel changed the arc of her flight, coming up alongside Fenril's dragon until they were close enough to speak. "Idiot."

"Pardon?", she scoffed back. "The dragons and swords I expected, but insults?"

"Not an insult; it's the truth. They're drawing you into the noose Fenril, making you think them weak. When you get near Fogel's castle, they'll pounce from all sides and take you down." Mirroring Fenril's customary sternness, she finally plucked the faded string of memory. "Good thing I decided to look after you, eh?"

"Yushis", she recognized. "Betrayer-kin. You returned?"

"I have. My mission was a failure... So I found a new mission- stop Rashidi."

"Does a mouse leap for the moon after failing to climb a mountain?" Recalling the girl's defiance more and more, Fenril shook her head in disdain. "Return home, betrayer-kin. This battle is not yours to fight."

"Nor is it yours." Pulling around at top speed, she parked herslef in front of Kamuul, slowing him down by force and gliding backwards. Thankfully, the dragon liked Yushis better than its rider- it had no conception of what her sister had done to their people. "It's the rebellion's, you fool. Didn't they say that they would get around to taking this place once Fort Allamoot fell? Shouldn't you be helping them out?"

"Silence!", the Sky Knight commanded. When that failed to work, she stroked the dragon's spines and halted altogether. "The humans' goals are not our goals. Slust may well have damned himself by consorting with them. As have I. I must help Fogel, by myself."

"You. Can't", Yushis maintained. "You dump on me for going down to Earth trying to help my sister all alone, and then-"

But she'd already said too much without realizing that such a comparison would_ not _go over well. While it did confirm suspicions she had long held, the look on the Sky Knight's sculpted face made clear her fury. "Fogel is _nothing_ like your whore of a sister", she scowled. "That charm of Rashidi's was too powerful for either of us to resist it. He is _not _aiding the humans by choice."

"'And neither was Mizal", she said, refusing to back down. She would have to gamble on Fenril's vows to protect her people- no matter how much her kin angered her, anything less than a full act of war by the former would not result in violence. Fenril kept that famous temper under strict control, to the relief of all who knew her. "But back on the matter at hand- you can't do this. I swear on my life they're leading you into a trap. Maybe even to put that 'charm' thing back on you!"

That threat had gotten through. The last thing the Sky Knight desired was to be controlled in such a way again. More offended though, Yushis noticed, by the likelihood that the rebellion would come and be required to save her a second time in such a scenario. "How do you know this, betrayer-kin? You are no tactician, unless the humans taught you their crude methods while you were in their world."

"Hardly. I came in from a higher angle than you did- I saw the divisions on the island. They've got just as many as they did at Shangrila. More telling though- Rashidi is there with them. Organizing them."

The reaction was so strong that Yushis nearly regretted saying that name. Clenching one fist hard enough to crack her blue armour, Fenril stared into the cloud banks ahead as it trying to see the ambush in wait. Though nearly identical in all directions, none of her people could ever become lost among the clouds.

Nor would they ever fail to pick out a chill overtaking them that most certainly was not atmospheric wind. Looking around, Yushis' expression changed from concern to the utmost horror. "The undead. They're here!"

"More blasphemy brought upon our home", Fenril remarked, pulling the young Seraphim onto Kamuul's back with her enhanced strength. "But I require no further proof- Fogel's freedom... shall have to wait for the moment."

As the golden-scaled dragon stretched his wings to take flight again, they both saw the signs and had no need to communicate them. The chill growing in intensity, strange blotches of darkness forming on the clouds before bursting free like vile plant spores. Three sickly-yellow coloured spectres, followed by a Cockatrice carrying the wizard responsible for them.

"JIHAD!" Yushis reacted first, but rashly- the trio of coruscating light beams flew past their targets, thrown off by her own panic and the speed Kamuul had already reached. Fenril tried a flying projectile of a spirit technique, but the blast passed through the ghosts leaving no harm at all. The other flying creature's narrow gaze flickered dangerously, but Fenril had seen Cockatrices in action before, and twisted at the last second to prevent her mount from being turned to stone.

The wizard's bolt, however, was not so simply evaded. Kamuul howled in pain, throwing their passenger clear as he thrashed. Cursing, Fenril turned to follow her down, realizing she must have been struck as well. Each phantom eagerly drained a portion of the Sky Knight's energy as they passed by but she did not slow, only stopping once their target had hit a solid surface.

_Not dead_, Fenril recognized in relief, surprised as anyone at how much the annoying girl's continued survival meant to her. _Injured. _The wings were torn- it would be impossible to fly from the precipice of Shiggult she'd fallen upon. From here one could see the two main portions of the long-ruined island. And the dozens of enemy divisions who still worked to transform it into an Imperial bastion.

Sensing its master's fury, Kamuul lashed out, freezing the white-feathered beast as it passed by. Fenril saw the wizard's hopelessness as his bird struggled in vain to shed the ice that had covered its wings. His robed hand stretched out, an open request for mercy if she knew humans correctly. He would gladly take being captured by the rebels over death by falling.

But he must have mistaken her for Slust. This was one of the humans who had conquered her home, enslaved her friends, and even attempted to destroy it.

"GO!", she heard Yushis shouting from below. Either she could not make out the falling wizard, or she too did not care greatly about his fate. "Get out of here! Rashidi's coming!"

Even if Fenril could not decide right away, her pet could- Kamuul wheeled away from the phantoms and did not look back even as other enemy fliers began to appear. Before long the area would be crawling with them.

"Hang on", the Sky Knight whispered as the massive island began to fade away. "I _shall _save you... Betrayer-kin."

* * *

EAST ALLAMOOT ARCHIPELAGO

The waters of Komaya pass were warm and dirty in comparison with the fresh feeling of the Kastolatian sea, but Eribeth did not let discomfort slow her as it flowed across her athletic ruby fins. Rather it was viewed as a reminder of what her people were fighting for- to prevent every body of water from being violated and despoiled as this one had been by the cutthroats who called it home.

Cutthroats, as in human renegades. Pirates. Despicable criminals who did not even abide by the meagre protection laws the Empire afforded its more beautiful provinces such as Shulamana and Malano. Under mer-Queen Porkyus no mermaid had betrayed their people in such a way, for there was nothing to gain by turning on their people.

And now that she was murdered, already their people had been fragmented. Hearing a series of clicks ringing through the archipelago's waters that were not her own, Eribeth snarled and dove deeper. Tyne and her pack of traitors were in the water as well; less than five miles off by the sound of it. Sending out her own more rapid clicks, she summoned her division leaders and surfaced to spot the collection of human ships she'd been told to protect- Cale Previa's fleet, carrying a legion's worth of divisions by themselves.

Eribeth was disgusted by this as she was by all humans, but even that revulsion did not overcome a keen tactical sense. Alone, her people simply lacked the numbers to avenge their queen, particularly after losing Tyne's group. Together with Empress Endora's troops, they could finally have vengeance, so it was worth stomaching them for now. "North-east!", she called up to the men on the deck of the flag ship. "At least half a dozen vessels, escorted by mermaids."

She did not have to wait long. A shiny silver dragon swept down alongside her, bearing the 3rd Deva upon it. Despite their proximity, Previa still had to speak loudly to be heard over the crashing of the waves. "I've dispatched fliers to watch them. For now, we'll guard the Komaya pass. Gives them only one place to run."

Eribeth scowled. "Your master said we would have the first shot at them."

"And so you shall. But we can't simply charge them blindly." The man flashed a smug grin. "Hey. Just hold onto that beautiful rage a bit longer toots. There'll be plenty of targets to go around, I'm sure."

Out of reflex more than anything, she sunk back down into the waves and began clicking out her frustration. She was pleasantly surprised to find three of her five sub-leaders clicking back to her in equal fury. They had not come this far to be told to sit and wait. Particularly under the command of a _human_ who had no respect for the ocean.

A minute past, the decision was made. Eribeth had known and respected Queen Porkyus for all her life, and held no desire to become a dictator. Clicking back, she gave the two reluctant leaders a firm assurance that there were no hard feelings, and commanded the rest out into the bay with her group. Previa could certainly communicate with them, but nothing he could say or do would alter their course.

They would settle things with the mer-Queen's assassins. One way or another.

"Human!", she called into the sky, surfacing again. "Human!"

"Right here", the general replied- he had not yet returned to his flagship. _Good_. "At least I assume I'm the one you wanted."

"It is. I wish to share something with you before we begin."

For once, the consumate joker had no idea what to say. Taking one last took around the fleet as if he suspected it all to be illusion, he swooped down closer. "What kind of something?"

"Something very... special. I wish to make up for how rudely I have treated you."

The subtle lick of the lips confirmed his conclusion- humans were so very predictable. Smiling, he descended further down towards the Nixie until his dragon mount was kicking up water behind it. "_Oh_. Oh really...? Well you could've picked a better time. But who am I to complain, eh? I should apologize too y'know, Hikash doesn't get out much so he thinks-"

"It's all right", she said in a relaxing tone. "I understand perfectly. Let me... make it up to you."

Eribeth's gills took in the clicks from below even as he took her offered bait. The sub-leaders were laughing, joking at how foolish the Imperial general was. Like all of his kind.

And Eribeth agreed. Giving him the long, slow kiss he desired was the diversion needed for her other hand to slide up his back plate and reach the clasp at his neck. Knowing she had mere breaths to act, she turned that hand into a vice, pushing off with all her strength in the same instant. Cale Previa fell sputtering into the sea, already long behind them by the time the kiss was broken.

Not that catching up would be his first priority- that would be trying to not drown in the heavy zenithite armour he'd been wearing. Shooting out ahead she could the panic coming from the ship crews. Surely the other Imperials would get their Deva out of the water before his life was in danger. But by then, Eribeth's entire group would be long gone.

And then this battle would be won. By her people, not the Empire of humans.

RALLIBEL FLOTILLA, NORTH OF KOMAYA

Destin dreamt of the past more often now. Dreams did not heed their dreamer's will, and certainly not his fears. It was not hard to guess why- he had learned, experienced more in the past year than he had in all his time at Volzak.

So he could not help but see the mangled faces of the fallen once more, both ally and enemy. Each one had fought for their chosen side with all their might and died all the same. Their expressions seemed pleading, begging to Destin for a way for him to save them from the fate he knew would happen.

No sooner would he acknowledge that then the fate would come to pass; Bors would be impaled by a valkyrie's pike. Jennifer burned to a screaming death by a fire spell. Ara Kestler carved by the Black Knight's cruel axe. Tally electrocuted by Kapella's lightning and then the district governor's own fate, perhaps the only high-profile kill he'd performed without help. In his final moments, Kapella had been terrified of his killer, just as afraid as Gares had been of him.

"Destin. Thank you for responding to my summons so quickly." It took a moment for him to realize the next face was speaking to him. Moreover, the next face was not the face of the dead.

"Oh, Prince Tristan. What are you doing here?", he murmured, still unsure if he was dreaming. Where was this? Were they back at Zenobia?

The prince did not answer him. Instead, a heavy pressure made itself known around his arms, pressing them to his sides and choking him. In the same instant, the prince calmly drew _Calfydwch_, as long a blade as those the Deva used.

_What...?_

"My most sincere apologies." It couldn't be Tristan. The prince was a bright, honest young soul. He would not do this. Never! Not to him! "We have nothing against you, but we cannot allow you to live."

"I-I dont-!"

"Forgive me, Destin. By being hero, you were bound to come for the throne sometime."

He thrashed and screamed against the pressure. There was only one who could have held him like this, and the voice that whispered in his ears confirmed it. "Sir Destin. Pl... please forgive me. Oh, by the Gods!"

The cold of Lans' blade had slashed into his spine. No mere grazing wound, but the steel of the Thirteenth. Not even he could recover from such a gaping wound. Already he felt hazy, as though life was already starting to slip away...

"I shall never forget your bravery, Destiny's Child. May you rest in peace."

"NO!" He sat up, the feeling vanishing along with the prince's terrified face. "No..."

"Trouble?", Deneb called from the next cot over, while the nearby deckhand simply chuckled at his howl of fright. "It's almost time. Better put your armour on, or do you need some help dear?"

No. This wasn't the palace. They were still nestled up in the hull of the Serpent's Breath, the leader of the ships Tristan had hired to transport them. The fleet would be well into the archipelago if things were proceeding on schedule. It was well past time.

"Fine. Just a nightmare, that's all."

"Fine. Then you can help put mine on, won't you?"

Water seemed to help clear away the fog that had taken up residence in his head. Along with a dozen others he made ready for battle, taking the familiar fiery red head piece and body plating from the chamber formerly used for storing cargo. _Eskendale_, a wide ice-enchanted blade,still felt bulky and awkward and heavy in his hands, but there was no helping it.

Shaking off grogginess he finished the last clasp of Deneb's own armour- a suit of pink with hearts painted on it that she refused to say where she'd found. Together they proceeded to the upper deck of the vessel, beholding the majesty of Rallibel Cove almost long enough to forget why there were there. To slay the enemy, regardless of when or how they attacked.

They were not the only ones. Yulia Walf had flapped on deck, looking cheery as usual ever since the fall of Castle Parcival. "Nothing yet, Destin. There's a big bunch of Imperial ships blocking Komaya pass like we thought. They've got mermaids and kraken with them."

Nodding, he leaned out over the rail and scanned the water to the west. This early, it would be impossible to make out any distinctive shapes. "What about Muspelm?"

"Luvalon's group is headed there on their flying mounts", their 'flying messenger' said. "My brother estimates we have a few hours before they return."

"Good. The timing should work."

Though he had not been there personally for the battles to take the first of the Sky Islands, he had listened intently to stories from the other divisions about the tactics involved in taking and holding them. It would have taken virtually the entire rebel army to defend Muspelm from enemy attack, and so they had opted not to even attempt it.

Instead, the island's cities had been fully evacuated long beforehand, leaving only a handful of Hawk clanners and angels to man the chock and make it serve as their diversion. Tanaburs Luvalon would make them retreat without a single loss hopefully, but the Deva's small flying divisions wouldn't allow for a permanent capture of the place either.

"Relay the message north then. Tell group two to deploy to Lasieve harbour. We'll head for the Komaya fleet."

Yulia looked like she was about to say more, but a massive explosion rocking the waters put an end to that for the moment. Several more such detonations followed, the ships moving to steer clear of it. Reaching down, Deneb carefully licked one of the orange fragments that had fallen onto the deck of the ship and smiled. "Pumpkin bomb. Happy halloween."

"Mermaids", Yulia noted in awe. "Otherwise we would've seen the ships coming. What should I tell Tyne?"

"Engage them", Destin decided after only a moment. "Deneb's pumpkin soldiers might have thrown them, but it won't last." Saradin's golems had similar orders- simple ones that they could remember- to home in on an underwater explosion such as what the pumpkins had just created with their heads, and engage the mermaids there. Hopefully between those three forces arriving one after the other, Eribeth's divisions could be beaten or at least stalled.

"Master Saradin", he whispered to the sea breeze as though just remembered their own role in this. "Are you ready?"

"Ready, young man. But don't call me 'master'." The Truthsayer was not alone- four other lesser mages accompanied the blue-robed man, each with their own degree of magical knowledge. Only together could such a feat of magic be attempted. With Deneb and several others clearing a wide area of deck, the five wizards joined hands and began to chant a new incantation. As full of bizarre linguistics and impossible twists of the tongue as any spell he'd ever heard, Destin tuned it out and instead watched the sky for the results.

Hopefully, Cale Previa's fleet would be seeing it as well.

* * *

STUN CREEK FLOTILLA, EAST OF DAHLMUD

"It's starting. Now comes the hardest part", Tristan announced, lying down on the deck, though still able to see the flare of bright blue arcing into the sky. "Would someone care to hold me down?"

None of the others positioned in the prince's 'group two' looked to have a clue what he was talking about. The crew continued their own duties on the vessels, not bothering to interact with the rebels beyond gruff acknowledgements or commands, possibly due to their elderly pirate captain being such an incredibly harsh taskmaster.

The attack had begun smoothly enough. Just as expected the Imperial air divisions had hit them fast and hard from the moment they had set out into the seas separating them from the fortress, and losses had already been sustained even with divisions of their own flying cover.

"Are you sick, prince?", Warren found room to jest. "You're not the only one lacking their sea legs here. Half Zagan's division is laid up."

"No, no", Tristan nodded enthusiastically, lacking the distrust most of the rebels now treated the Sage with. "I just need someone to stop me from running off the boat and trying to help the others."

"Oh."

"I can't STAND it", the prince emphasized, kicking the rail again and again. Beside him, Iseult said nothing. "Everyone else is away doing their part in this attack, risking their lives while we just sit here on our butts!"

"We've already risked our lives once today, prince", Gilbert Oblion consoled him. The beast tamer may have been the best human swimmer in the task force- after being knocked off his boat by the enemy he had swam down and fought like a fiend with merely his skinning knife, slaying one muse and capturing her wyvern mount. "Sometimes, the hardest thing to do in war is nothing at all. We must be patient and play our part, if the plan is to succeed."

"Then shall you do the honours, sir Oblion?"

Gilbert nodded, hesitant at first but encouraged when the prince did not resist. Soon he was tied to the rail, looking up at the clouds, peaceful as if affected by some euphoric herb. "I can see Muspelm up there", he noted casually. "Looks like they took the bait."

"Remind me to thank sir Slust once more when we see each other again", Tristan said, leaning back as well. "Without his cooperation this would not have been possible." The lecherous Sky Knight would be to their far south now, helping Destin put up a fierce battle at Komaya pass, hopefully enough to convince the enemy that the rebels' intent was to land at the southern shore. Rauny would be with him as well, aided on all sides by Canopus' aerial wing and Lyon's dragons.

Assuming Lyon was still in for this. He had to admit the mercenary, while surly on the best of days, had taken a turn into a vile temperament which no one seemed capable of explaining. No one really knew Galnam Lyon well, unless one counted his animal friends. "I should have asked them", Gilbert decided out loud. "Now is not the time for old grudges to spill out."

"Hn?"

"Lyon", he explained to Warren's curious look. "You heard?"

The Moon sage, back in his old methods of disdain towards the majority at once, shook his head. "Typical mercenary loyalties. He thinks maybe he might get more money working for the Empire- they've now snatched up everyone we didn't take, good and bad. But he can't just switch sides, not with us watching him. And a betrayal means he's counting on the Empire's good will after the fact. He should be safe so long as we keep him well paid and fed."

"A fragile alliance", Tristan noted from the deck, alarmed at the prospect. "Who else in the rebellion is a hired sword, besides the pirates? With so many people, I still have yet to meet everyone."

"Only Selec Fubuki", Warren noted. "And he is not your average thug, as you may have seen when the _Daimyo_ granted him his new title of Samurai Master. His code of honour guaranteed he would never turn, at least not without ample warning."

"Yet he attacked lord Destin", Gilbert protested. "He fancies himself a better leader. I saw it in my own castle long ago, and it was not the first time. Why keep him on?"

"Just his usual way", the sage replied with a quiet smile, well aware of the irony. "He continued to test Desin until, at some point, his worth was made clear." There was another one who had been disturbingly quiet as of late; even more so than usual. "And that man's worth has lately improved to the point where we can permit him a few quirks." Gazing out over the prow, his brow furrowed. "And speaking of quirks..."

The other leaders glanced over, only the prince maintaining his position beneath the rail. Most recognized the black beard and portly belly of Toad the merchant- now merchant lord- instantly. "Hello there my friends. I had heard word that you had come here. Is master Faroda around by chance?"

"Not here", Gilbert replied neutrally. He'd heard all about the last time they'd crossed paths with the duplicitous trader. "But it's true. We're in this for everything we've got."

"Ah." The inviting grin widened, and he ignored the dirty looks the pirates were giving him. "How fortuitous. Since you have been so impressively honest with me, I think I shall be honest with you. I've recently come into a spot of bad luck I'm afraid. Too many deals gone bad and all that. Even my most valuable treasure, the Golden Goblet, stolen!"

"Strange", Warren said. "Whatever happened to all that treasure in Baron Apros' vaults we gave you?"

Toad shrugged. "Ah... that was not quite the boon you might think it to be, for along with his fortune I have inherited the late Baron's debts, which are many. Disgraceful really, for a noble of Malano to be so deeply in hock... _However_! Do not think that I would allow such misfortune to hamper our relationship! No sir!"

Opening one side of his increasingly worn tunic, he revealed his latest item, a band of cloth divided between stripes of black and white. "This is Zebra's fur. Understandable if you've not heard of such an beast, for they only exist in a handful of far-off lands, and even there such animals are passing rare. This is an incredibly valuable treasure, but for my loyal customers I'll make an exception!"

More to humour him than anything, Gilbert leaned over to him. "How much?"

"Oh... well I'm certain all your assets are tied up with this assault at the moment. We can name a figure later, yes?"

Having untied himself, Tristan chose that moment to rise up over the rail and fish eye the merchant. The effect on him was automatic, shrinking away as though the prince had drawn a sword and threatened to cut him. "Y-y-you?"

"Old merchant's trick", the prince noted sadly. "Not naming a figure until later. Which means that he could take us for every bit of Goth we had as soon as the battle was over. Good effort, but I spent the majority of my adult life as a thief among Malanians. You pick up on the various ways by which they cheat each other. You're not going to get us with anything that simple, at least not while I lead."

Just like that, the facade of politeness dropped. But not, Tristan noticed, the worry that he'd demonstrated when speaking of the lost Goblet. "You should not be here prince. These are dangerous waters, ruled by savages."

Tristan eyed the captain, who didn't look to have heard the insult. "Savages whom merchant lords pay piddling amounts of Goth to risk their lives and locate rare treasures for them. In fact, many here are the underclass of Malano, forced into this life by economic imbalance. Are you going to quit while you're ahead now, sir Toad?"

Beside him, burly Iseult grunted through his cloaking hides. Even Toad could tell the prince's bodyguard was not one to be trifled with, and nor were the rest of group two. "V-very well. A less rigid trade then, prince? Find my Goblet, and the Zebra fur is yours. If I may say so, t'would make a lovely anniversary present for your lady."

By now he'd regained the old charm and suaveness in his voice, but the speed with which he fled the port suggested otherwise. Only after he was gone did Warren Moon burst out laughing, several of the others joining in. "Considering your position well-earned, my prince", the sage joked. "Whatever you might lack in battle prowess is made up for by your tact. I believe that is_ twice_ now you've prevented that scoundrel from taking all our money on a technicality."

"He'll keep trying", Tristan acknowledged, not quite as excited about his new talent as the rest. "With how cuthroat that business is getting, I might consider his financial losses genuine and be moved by pity... except that there is no way to ascertain that from his usual facade. That is the price one pays when you operate without trust."

"Well spoken", Gilbert said. "The financial experts shall never receive full credit for their efforts, but in a way they are every bit as integral to winning a war as the legendary fighters." Seeing the Toad trip over something, he stiffened. "Truly, I'd not be surprised if the Empire might be bringing in one such man soon. Cardinal Randals wipes his ass with his tax money, but surely even the Empire's war chest must be nearing parity by now."

"Not the man we need to worry about in any case", Tristan considered. "Have you seen the signal yet, sage?"

"Not yet", Warren said quickly, though scanning the skies for the missing island. "Not yet. But soon."

* * *

KOMAYA PASS

For once, Cale Previa was thankful to be a Highlander. Had he not, he might well have been shivering right through the thick wool blanket his captains had brought to him after fishing him out of the water. Hardly conductive to morale to see your leader in such a state, particularly if they asked him how it had happened. _Though, in all fairness... that fishwife's kiss was _completely_ worth it._

He stood on the deck of the lead ship in defiance of the chill winds that assailed them. Though his armour had been forcibly discarded to avoid drowning, master Hikash had drilled into him the importance of a visible presence. Everyone would feel safer if an Imperial Deva was nearby to help fend off attacks, armour or no. Thankfully, he'd brought a spare sword and garment.

"Just a little dip in the surf", he assured the crew self-mockingly. "Awful pretty down there. I figure it's now or never, eh?"

His second-in-command didn't laugh. "What are your orders, general?"

Previa stared through a telescope across the north horizon, well aware of where Eribeth's battle group had gone. They had at least lured out a good portion of the enemy into sight- he could make out a half-dozen vessels bearing the rebel blue, and the Zenobian lion's head on what he figured was the flagship. _They're transports_, he realized what he _wasn't_ seeing. None of those ships had any heavy cannons or armour, only cargo space. _Fishwives must've caught them flat-footed. But this gives us a chance as well._

They had to know Komaya pass was a deathtrap. Why not send the warships first, try and sneak these ones through during the fighting?

"Engage", he decided firmly. "Through the pass, but keep an eye out for more ships or flying divisions." It _was_ too easy, but the instincts Hikash had drilled into all his apprentices told him he would accomplish nothing waiting here. "Oh, and if we spot any mermaids along the way, fry 'em up good."

Little reaction from the crew at the joke. They all knew that lady Eribeth's group had brought fate about themselves by charging ahead. No one ever said working with a Deva was easy, doubly so for their master. Arranged in an arrowhead formation that protected the vulnerable transport vessels- like the rebel fleet _should _have been doing- Previa's entire legion crossed through the point in the water where the width of the channel narrowed to a mere five ship lengths, ready for any attack that might come their way.

Except possibly one. There was no sign of direct attack from the transports. Only a streak of blue light blasting off into the skies, followed by a descending curtain of glitter too beautiful to be snow.

And the ships stopped. Ground to a halt just outside the pass, slowing before the crewers looked down in confusion. "Ice? At this latitude?"

Previa looked down as well, and cursed. "Damned clever use of Zenobian magics. This flotilla must be the one carrying the wizards." Even as he spoke, the water ceased lapping at the hulls, transitioning into a smooth sheet of ice that spread in every direction outward from the fleet. Over twenty vessels, and not one could move another inch in any direction.

"Still", he reminded them positively. "Now we know where those wizards are." He pointed with his spare sword, out toward the rebels transports which had been caught up in the ice the same as they had. "And they can't escape _us_ either. Give them another minute to make the ice stronger, then order all hands to abandon ship... and prepare for ground assault!"

Victorious cheers from five hundred throats rang through the air.

So long as Cale Previa was there, they had nothing to fear.

* * *

FORT ALLAMOOT GARRISON

The Supreme Overlord Hikash took in each report and patrol with practised patience, avoiding the habit of staring out to the horizon in anxiousness for the battle to come. It would come when it was time and no sooner, he reminded those troops who remained. If they endured no battle the entire day and were bored stiff because of it, then they could instead rejoice that the rebellion's drive had failed, and their home would be safe.

"Pirate allies", Hikash interpreted from the Deva's wizard-delivered messages. "As we anticipated, the port city Lasieve has come under attack as well." Up in the skies, Luvalon's group reported little resistance on the Sky Island. The citadel had fallen without a single loss, the towns abandoned save for a few scouts who had fled, and now the general was busy trying to make the island's control mechanism work again.

But neither would Lasieve fall so easily. Just the opposite- Hikash had spent the last few days slowly shuffling frontline units out of the fortress and into the port, to the point where it was now better staffed then his own garrison.

"Too quiet", he murmured after a moment's consideration. He wanted to believe that was the extent of it, that the rebels wished to use the flying island as a diversion before launching their true strike at the port... but that did not sound much like the enemy who had forced them back this far. Normally stoic to a fault, he found he could not sit still in the command room, and went back over each report.

Most of them indicated that Destin Faroda was indeed back with the rebellion after a lengthy absence. Well familiarized with the young man's face and red armour by now, Hikash idly hoped he would get a chance to see this 'Child of Destiny' in the flesh no matter which way the battle went. "Rankless, not even a noble", he considered. "Younger than any Deva, yet in such a short time he has become nearly our equal." Small wonder the Zenobians rallied around him, believing him to be their holy salvation.

The captain on the next scroll, they were more familiar with. Lans Hamilton, survivor of the royal guard who had been rabble-rousing for the duration of the occupation. Reported dead by Luvalon... and here Hikash had given up explaining_ that_, as Luvalon had never before been known to exaggerate, or falsely claim a kill like some soldiers eager to out-do their fellows.

And then... _Rauncorintha._ His daughter. The most accomplished of all the Highland defectors, and reportedly now the wife of Zenobia's lost prince, himself another miracle survivor. His eyes closed tight in remembrance, trying to pick out some sign of her plan that might have tipped him off during their last talk together in the city of Malano.

What could the prince have said to sway her? She had no need for money or power. She had shown nothing but honour and dedication and duty to her people for her entire military career. Why _now_? Why with the new leader of the enemy? What had he done to earn such disrespect?

"My lord", one of the remaining commanders stepped in. "We have an emergency report from the 4th aerial division."

Hikash stood. That was one of the groups he'd set to scouting the south end of the desert, this particular one carrying a large number of fully-grown Cockatrices, capable of turning entire divisions to stone as they passed- lethal during air battles "What's the problem?"

Wasting no time, they walked out to the number of scrying circles attuned to each group's spellcasters on the outer rampart, each tower holding one. The sandstorm that had been buffeting their fortress for the entire day bathed their armour in grit. There were a number of other circles active, but none conveying a large object like this one was.

He squinted. The object looked like...!

"A second sky island", the mage on the other end confirmed. "This one is significantly larger. It's sweeping over the dunes now, but they haven't attacked us yet. We'll shadow them for as long as we can."

"Wonders of the old magic", Hikash remarked once the circle was cut. That division knew its duty, and had alerted them to the third prong of this attack, possibly the one meant to defeat them. "Arrange the 3rd at the south wall. If it weren't for this blasted sandstorm we'd have seen the isle already. But now we shall be ready when they come."

And come the enemy did. Less than an hour after the report, Hikash himself sat along the south wall with the men and women of the 3rd legion, watching as a flight of bird-men dropped out of the clouds to the ground.

They carried but one cargo- a man with sandy hair in red armour. "He's insane or desperate", the commander of the 3rd remarked beside him. "He cannot possibly hope to assault us like this even if we were caught unawares. _Sage Rashidi_ couldn't do that."

"Unless Shangrila has a second target in mind", Hikash supposed. "Perhaps several battle groups at varying points. Anything to slip a handful of wizards past us so they can blow up the wall. In any case, we must answer the call. I shall face this one alone, but keep all our fliers watching for further surprise attacks."

The Muse looked worried. "Sir. I have heard of spells that render a person invisible, what if-"

"Then they shall wish they stayed invisible", the overlord said harshly. "But by all means, post lookouts. Respond as best you see fit, commander. This front is _mine _to hold."

* * *

KOMAYA PASS

The rebels aboard the ships trapped by their own ice could not run, nor did they try to. By the time general Previa's divisions were prepared, he could make out some hundred figures waiting for them around the boats, a fair number of them in the common hoods and robes of wizards.

"So this was the real threat", he mused in satisfaction. The threat that was effectively stalled, for neither of these armies were going anywhere now.

And his still outnumbered theirs by a great margin. To complete his sense of triumph, he made out the familiar features of Destin Faroda at the front of the enemy line, guarding the casters with every available blade. Looking about, he saw the other leaders rallying their own divisions beside him. The pink-clad witch Deneb was there, along with the blue robes of Saradin Carm coordinating the wizards. A lack of muscle that would ensure Faroda's own division would be pulled in too many directions at once trying to guard them.

All Previa had to do was strike all along the line, and the enemy would crumble. The dragons and their handlers he held back, for fear of breaking the ice. Likewise for the wyverns, who could easily melt it with a missed blast of fire breath.

"General Faroda", he called out once they were in verbal range. "That _is_ the rank you go by these days, isn't it? Not 'Emperor'?"

He'd touched a nerve by the look on the young man's face, and he did not even reply to it for many moments. "Tristan is the ruler, not I. For you, the _Drei_-Deva of the Empire it matters not."

"I wonder if you'll still sing the same song after he orders you to spare us", Previa countered easily. "That whole family... they were never ruthless enough to survive. Of course, that assumes you'll live out the hour. A crucial mistake there, trying to sneak in through Komaya. Now you're trapped."

"We've beaten worse odds", he called back. "And no matter what the situation our people shall always be ready to FIGHT IT OUT!"

"I should hope your skills are greater than your choice of a battle cry", Previa said once the clamour of echoing shouts had died down. "But mayhap I should withhold judgement until the victor is clear. _Ewiger rum Freya!"_

* * *

WATERS NORTH OF KOMAYA PASS

The mermaid Eribeth sped along in the enemy's wake, rush with the thrill of victory. The enemy had fought well, even sprung ambushes the closer they drew to the port cities. Tyne had been there, leading the rebel-aligned mermaids, but they had been outnumbered, and the Nixie's lieutenants had fought with unmitigated fury against the traitors. And the rock golems. And the pumpkin creatures with self-destructing heads that grew back onto the open stump within seconds... she didn't _want_ to know how the rebels had come into those.

She was grateful at least that their leader had not wasted time trying to convince her to stand down. Both of them knew it wouldn't work, and killing a fellow mermaid who had surrendered was one of the few things Eribeth hoped never to have to do.

For Tyne, she might yet have made an exception. Young and naive with an unusually long bronze tail making her stand out, she had sold out her people to the very scoundrels who had slain queen Porkyus. So Eribeth sped on ahead with every kick of her own beautiful red tail, beckoning her divisions to follow into shallow waters. Even the golems who had walked the sea had been no match for the combined merfolk army, due to their crippling vulnerability to spells. Their remains now littered the sea floor.

Looking around, she smiled thinly. The edges of the shore were narrowing, becoming closer to a bay or a cove that pirates of the region used as hidden bases. Very soon, Tyne's remaining forces would come against the end of that inlet and become trapped against the island.

She had them. She had won.

A tremor jarred her from that pleasant thought. A large body of water such as this situated near volcanic activity would act up from time to time, generating undersea quakes to release the pressure. It was part of why this area of sea was so warm and dirty compared to the vast expanse of Kasolat. No cause for alarm.

The swishing tails of Tyne's traitors were up ahead. Just a little further, and they would be outnumbered nearly five to one. They did not even seem to be trying to escape anymore, as if resigned to their fate. Eribeth sighed. So many of their own people lost to foolishness. They were even more endangered than the bird men now- they should be working together to drive back the humans, not fighting each other.

It had to be Destin Faroda's doing. She had heard rumours around the Empire that the rebel's leader had an uncanny knack for recruiting people of all races and religions to his cause. The gift of the silver tongue was a primarily human trait. A terrifying one, to be sure- it had somehow convinced Tyne to betray her queen's memory.

Of course Eribeth had a tongue as well, but merfolk never had reason to use it when speaking to their own kind. Swishing to a halt for a moment, she released a brief burst of clicks echoing through the water. A simple message in their language, and one that would reach Tyne's membranes very quickly: -**I am sorry**-

A few of her division leaders echoed the sentiment in shorter barrages of clicks. Clearly they felt as horrible about doing this as she did. _Destin Faroda will pay for this_, she decided firmly. _He and the human prince, Fichs Tristoram Zenobia, will be the next ones to die by my hand after this._

Which would place the entire Empire in great debt to the merfolk. A massive debt which would be honoured if the Highlanders knew what was good for them. They would-

-**I'm sorry too**-

Eribeth's slender head shot up, hearing the short burst of clicks hitting off her membranes. _Tyne_'s _words. Why?_

She looked around the entire cove in panic. Something not right. Something hidden from them until this crucial moment. She could feel it in her bones. But what?

Only one way to find out. She surged forward, towards Tyne's division. The rest of the army followed suit, already charging spells and rousing their Kraken pets into action.

Tyne had none of those left. But she was rising up, kicking toward the surface of the water, her entire group following behind.

They breached the surface at the same time, Eribeth staring at the entire enemy group treading sedately on the horizon, watching their leader expectantly. **-Goodbye-**

Clicks didn't carry as well near the surface. Eribeth had little time to dwell on before two things happened. Firstly, the chime of a human-crafted bell rang across the surface, the soundwaves echoing to far shores even as its clarity disoriented all the nearby merfolk.

Secondly, the appearance of a score of silhouettes to the east. Winged ones. Winged men, the leader of which was beginning to look familiar...

In the time it took Eribeth to process this and dive back down to release barrages of clicks commanding her divisions to **run**, Tyne's division was gone. The light from the bell clanging in her hands had somehow expanded into a sphere, engulfing them all before vanishing with the sun.

_Enchanted bell_, she thought to herself with a sick feeling. Though expensive, they were a common-enough item in Zenobian circles, items blessed by wizards to release a single spell before irreparably breaking. This one, understandably, was a teleport spell.

It didn't matter where the traitors had gone to- the bird men were coming. Canopus Walf, the Wind Rider, was coming. -**Out now- -Get away- -Thunder comes- -Bad- -Must escape-**

They understood. The water churned all around her as hundreds of tails and tentacles scrambled to push away from the cove's inlet. Making sure everyone had heard her panicked message, she swept around one last time, kicked and kicked her tail-

Stared straight ahead. The shadow of a dozen wings sliding across the waters, faster than they could outrun. The largest of those shadows stopped, flapping just above the water. His comrades duplicated his move, able to fly as least as fast as they prey could swim.

_Canopus. _Drawing closer to the surface again, she could make out the murderer's grim face. Along with the energy charging up in his club. The energy being copied by all of his allies. _Thunder...!_

-**No**- The denial had come out on instinct, through her membranes rather than her mouth. That simple syllable, an admission of failure, collapsed whatever courage she had left.

They swam. They kicked as fast as they could, burning through the water towards open sea, forgetting everything else but that. -**No**-

But above them, Eribeth could see the storm brewing, following them. -**No- -No no no no no no-**

The bolts struck the surface of the sea. The water around Eribeth boiled and crackled and hissed until everything was gone.

* * *

DESERT SOUTH OF FORT ALLAMOOT

The sandstorms here were strong. They felt like a force of their own, attempting to bully those weaker than they into curling up from the strain of continuing on. Those who did became mummified, buried beneath the ever-shfiting dunes for years until some nomad of Deneuve found them- many had made a business of that very thing, selling any items of value to Malano and keeping the food and water for themselves.

Hikash Vinzalf would not be bullied. He reached for his blade's hilt, remembering the weapon's history at the slightest touch. _Gottwachter_ it was called, a massive edge of polished steel half the size of a man. For long, far too long, it had lain dormant with no need for use, his very presence enough to scare thieves or pirates into contrition. In this way among others, reputation could be detrimental to one's skills.

"So here you are", he tried to speak loudly through the whistling sands. Upon seeing his coming, the bird men had all fled. "All alone? Have you come to negotiate on behalf of your people?"

The figure had every single feature from the posters. Now that they were close he could ensure it was not a decoy. But the lack of emotion threw him- it was a sign he saw overtake every soldier at some time or another, a monotone and dull expression resulting from too many kills. "I am Destin Faroda, son of Lexar Faroda. I bring liberation."

"Of course you do."

"I am the one destined to destroy the Empire and restore honour. To follow me is to follow the Gods."

That was even more surprising. All the reports painted the rebel leader as a more level-headed man than the typical Zenobian paladin, who were generally steadfast on matters of belief. "If that is how you feel, then I suppose further negotiation is useless."

"I, Destin, general of the second Zenobian Revolutionary Army, do hereby pledge to restore the Zenobian crown to its former glory."

"And I must pledge to stop you", Hikash sighed. Such a pity. He'd been looking forward to matching wits with a leader of men who could actually _think_ instead of just blindly reciting the oaths and religion of his people. There were too many on both sides who were like that, endlessly repeating words placed in their mouths by their superiors.

His massive blade swung down with typical force for the Supreme Overlord, creating a channel of displaced sand before his foe. The rebel leader rolled to avoid it, but slower than expected and Hikash's follow-up was blocked instead of creating another trench. Spinning, he brought _Gottwachter_ around to catch Destin's arm, fragmenting the armour along it.

"Use your _Iainuki, _Destin Faroda_"_, he advised after withdrawing from a counter-blow. "I know you have one."

Destin refused. He barreled forth, slicing with both weapons like a windmill but expending his energy on a mountain of unyielding metal. Another wide swipe sent him flying back into the sand, head first.

_What is this I'm feeling? Disappointment? _He was not Figaro. He did not live solely for the supposed thrill of bloody combat against a strong enemy, no matter how much he'd tried to get that out of the boy's system in their training sessions. _No. Something else is amiss here. A simpleton like this wouldn't have come so far._

"I am Destiny's Child. I bring liberation. I am Zenobia's hero, its savior!"

"Fine". The overlord's eyes glittered. Whatever sense of drama he had demanded a longer duel, but the sooner he ended this, the sooner he could figure out what was really going on. "Niebelung... _BLADE!"_

He had, after all, taught General Debonair how to best use that technique after his trial. And it was the best way of ending it, still capable of slicing through buildings and armour all the time. To his amazement, Destin did not howl as the blue beam cut through his left arm, leaving it lying on the sand. And the stump-

He stopped and stared. The stump was not even bleeding. _How? Some form of magic?_

Now he was curious. "Niebelung... _BLAST!"_

General Figaro's technique was not quite as effective- it only churned the sand further, leaving behind a crater where Destin had once lain, but this time he had dodge in time. Pouncing on the fallen rebel, Hikash sliced down at the area past the stump, subjecting his foe to a series of deep cuts that would at least reduce his armor to nothing but mangled plates. Every strike was angled to pierce the gaps and sever organs, each one backed by the muscles of the mightiest Highlander alive.

He had him. He had won.

Hikash looked down, already feeling a sudden cessation in movement beneath his feet. All four of Destin's limbs had been severed, his armour scattered on the winds. A limbless torso stared up at him now, his eyes blank and featureless.

"I am liberation. I am the rebel's hope. I am-"

"You are dirt", Hikash cut in, thrusting _Gottwachter_ down into the gaping face. A crushing noise lacking in all finality rang out, and the supreme overlord gaped.

Stones everywhere. Not armor fragments or any trace of flesh, but cold stone already taking on bits of blowing sand.

There had been no need for him to focus on the armour. The flesh _was _the armour, the armour the flesh. No layers. They were one unified being, each composed of well-sculpted stone, now rendered lifeless.

A_ golem_.

"Idiot, idiot, IDIOT!", he howled to the winds. _A diversion! Nothing more than a decoy who bore his name and looks! _Inwardly he could appreciate the genius that must have gone into the creation of such a convincing golem in human form, but anger at himself overtook admiration. Had he paid more attention, he might have seen the signs even in the heat-distortion of the desert.

Crushing one such rock in his hands with another furious scream to the sky, Hikash studied the fortress he had left. A twenty minute journey back across the desert at most. Even if the bird men informed the enemy of his having taken the bait, just how much could happen in twenty minutes' time?

* * *

KOMAYA PASS

As usual for him, the heavy slugging had gone past Cale Previa leaving only scant memories of each exchange and face. All he knew was that he had killed several rebels with _Fafhniel, _and that the enemy was being driven back to the boats by a similar performance by his men even as they suffered a similar casualty rate. It was a far more even contest than many rebels had come expecting- that much showed on their faces as he cut them apart with glee.

Finally, inevitably, he had been drawn in close to Destin Faroda, on a patch of thicker ice. Signaling two Raven men, he began to maneuver against him. Spotting the danger almost immediately, rebel-aligned dragons moved in to assist.

"Not going to face me in a duel yourself, are you?", the rebel asked in-between volleys. "No longer quite so confident?"

Previa smiled as if they were old friends sharing a joke before speaking in clipped Zenobian. "I'm not that insane maniac Figaro. Duty comes before bravado." When the _Iainuki _came he expected it, and dodged aside. "Or did you expect me to cut off a part of this ice so we could duel alone?"

He shrugged. "We do what we will, all of us." For a moment it looked like he'd been blinded by the rising sun, but instead of flinching he merely stepped away. "Actually, it might have been more problematic if you had."

_No more joking_, he decided, risking a brief survey of the others to ensure the rebels hadn't pulled some kind of trick. Nothing yet- everyone was engaged, trying to press past the formation into the rebel mages who had created this ice. "Well, thanks for getting rid of Figaro. You can die now."

Right on cue, his two bird men released their Inferno spell in a crisscross pattern, thick columns immolating the ice all around Destin and melting it with a mere touch. When a steaming figure came charging out of the flames, Previa met him with his blade, unsurprised. "Huh. Not even a scream . You're tough all right."

"_Icecloud"_ the reply came, simple and curt, turning the incoming spells into steam even as it filled the holes with fresh ice. Arrows and Blizzards followed after, driving off the Raven men. "Iainuki!"

For one moment Previa winced, but thankfully his opponent hadn't reached the level of the Samurai masters of Dahlmud yet- the tall spike of energy merely glanced off his armour, draining Destin and leaving him open to a counterstrike along his flank.

Armour plates flying through the air. Blood dripping onto the clean ice, shared by a dozen other rebel soldiers being overwhelmed by numbers. When a cloud of stunning magic came down to blind the frontline Muses, Previa's group was ready with two Wyverns focusing their attacks against the division of Deneb the Witch. In the time it took to move that one to safety, several of the mages had fallen dead along with their protectors... and there were no sign of the Shamans and Monks the rebels loved using to heal their people back from the brink.

Previa smiled. He had them. He had won.

Just a little more pressure and they would break. All he had to do was finish the leader. Finish Destin Faroda, who no longer seemed interested in clashing swords with him. Perhaps he understood he'd finally run into an opponent who was too much for him, even with the support of his army.

Instead of another Icecloud to mend the damage numerous stray fire spells and breath attacks had wrought, Destin was working at something on his waist, steadily falling back towards the rest of his group now that his battle line was broken. A bell?

He did not ring it. Instead, taking a moment to join with a group of archers, he pointed at the Raven clanners who had been hounding him and shouted something in Zenobian, impossible to tell from his distance.

Previa ran, charging up the center with his troops, but even his speed could not stop the concentrated barrage of arrows and magic that now shot out at the Imperial fliers, tearing them to ribbons even as the Muses broke Destin's new line with their own spells. Ignoring it as best they could, the mages under Saradin's command created a second wave of their deadly art to take down the Cockatrices in Previa's other aerial division, leaving only a Wyvern rider left.

_Impressive_, he noted after his current target, a Paladin, died on his blade. They'd been playing dead this whole time, attacking sporadically and ineffectively, in an effort to convince him the rebel mages were incapable of the coordination it would take to bring down such strong fliers.

All he could do now was pay them back for it. Losing his flying divisions didn't change the fact that all, or nearly all, of the rebel spell casters were _here_. Here, and unable to destroy the walls of Allamoot, and trapped on the ice, and waiting to be butchered by an army that yet outnumbered theirs.

Once the last of the rebels' armored fighters were dead, it would become a bloody mess rivaling some of the fights he'd endured in Antalia fighting Omicron's insane cult of the Imprisoned One. Wizards and their ilk were derogatively referred to as 'squishies' by Imperial troops for a reason.

Another stun cloud from Deneb battered at his senses, but he shook it off in time to hear the chime. The bell ringing atop Destin's only remaining large creature in this fight; a young-looking griffin. The clanging somehow went on even as the bell shattered, collapsed into an expanding sphere of light.

Whether they knew the truth or not, Previa felt and saw his people step up their efforts, refusing to be afraid of the ball of light. Three more rebel wizards and two archers fell dead before the sphere reached its maximum size, then the survivors winked out along with the sphere.

Leaving Previa's divisions alone and confused. He felt the same way, but tried not to show it. _A magic bell? What does he hope to accomplish teleporting himself and his people all the way back to his base in Malano? They've just lost days of progress getting to Allamoot's walls._

He did not think for a moment Destin had given up on taking the fortress. "Rally up", he ordered in Zeteginean. "Back to the ships, everyone. Once we're aboard we'll see what we can do about breaking this ice."

_Too late. _It came out of the sun on draconic wings of dark ruby- an adult red dragon, far larger and bipedal but still capable of normal flight.

Previa saw its rider gesture with a whip, and the jet of flame it released carved a line between the Imperials and their frozen ships. Dodging counterattacks of lightning with every flap, it did the same thing going back. When the clouds of rising steam had finally cleared, Previa knew that the ice there was gone. Gone for at least a mile in both directions, leaving a wide channel of frigid water in its place.

So angered by this slow realization, he caught himself in time to avoid releasing his _Niebelung_ against the creature- even if it managed to hit from this distance, it would only help the red-skinned creature, who was now attacking and killing his last Wyvern rider.

_Stay cool_, he told himself repeatedly, looking around for a way out of this. He wasn't general Figaro. He wasn't going to have a homicidal temper tantrum when a battle didn't go the way he wanted. He wouldn't even swear in front of his troops when the enemy lit the ships on fire, betraying his anxiety that way.

Unfortunately, it soon became clear that thanks to Destin Faroda's trick and Galnam Lyon's skill as a dragon rider, being cool was about all his army of five hundred soldiers could look forward to for the rest of the day.

* * *

A/N: Back after another long break/working on a Bleach fanfic that I found more interesting to work on for a long time. Now, I hope to alternate updates between that one and this, so 'Spirit Eater' will be updated next, then this again, and so on.

As to some of the weird stuff in this chapter, there is an actual item Toad trades you for called 'Zebra's** Fur**'. Translation issue? I'm not sure. And if you agree to his first offer, he really does take all of your Goth! Every penny! This is just the first portion of the trading sequence that goes on in this area, and given the size and scope of the battle going on here as well I had to split it into two parts. The magic bells used in this chapter are also purchasable magic items, though expensive.


	26. The Siege of Allamoot Part 2

Disc: Ogre Battle is the property of Enix.

* * *

**The Siege of Allamoot (Part 2)**

* * *

RALLIBEL FORTRESS

Seeing their allies safely returned from their mission at around the same time, Deneb the witch smiled, spun and clicked her heels in utter contentment. "Awe-SOME! I haven't seen a plan this big go so well in centuries! And that one only worked because the king just killed people whenever something went wrong in his plan."

"That sounds just like someone else I know", Destin Faroda noted wearily, searching the fortress' sparse courtyard and making sure Tyne's people were all there, along with the Wind Rider's legion of flying warriors and griffins. His own armour had acquired a new collection of deep slash wounds amongst the bright red metal, and he could feel pain of the flesh from at least one of them- general Previa's legendary sword _Fafhniel _had cut him deeply before they'd pulled out using one of the magical items they'd purchased for this battle plan.

All the same, the uplifting, almost giddy energy he was feeling right now numbed much of that and he actually fought not to dance with Deneb; this was indeed the most ambitious, meticulous strategy they had ever put together, fitting for the Empire's strongest fortress, its final wall against invasion. When things were working this well, he would not dare let a few flesh wounds slow his progress in front of so many. Canopus Walf had perched upon the fortress' east turret, staring down at Destin with a predator's glare that looked imposing and frightful but was more likely one of adroit respect. He had taken no casualties in his portion of the plan, and had unleashed Thunder on every mermaid led to the island cove by Tyne's units.

Coupled with their own magic bell, the Wind Rider's unbeatable speed, the mermaid's innate weakness to electrical spells, and the pirates' thorough knowledge of the archipelago, together they had led lady Eribeth's mermaids into a trap that had destroyed them all with a ruthlessness equal to the Empire's worst massacres. While the bitterness in his sharp eyes was understandable, everything else he saw along with it made Destin sigh in relief. Canopus knew what had to be done. This was not at all like the situation at Kasolat.

Turning, he faced his other co-commander of the diversionary force, Saradin Carm. "Everyone made it?"

The Truthsayer waved a hand dismissively. "Twenty four of our people dead if you don't count my golems. But yes, no one was abandoned who was not already slain or doomed to be. The warp spell affected all of us."

Like the bird man, Rashidi Light's last remaining student seemed much more at ease with the rebels as of late, though the limitations of his gift often made him quite awkwardly blunt in conversations. While Truthsayers could see through _any_ falsehood, they were also forbidden to ever tell a lie, or else their rare gift would be forever lost to the world.

Saradin, Destin could always trust to speak his mind without worrying about how others felt. Much like his mentor Warren Moon in fact, whom he had seen Saradin spending many nights alone with when they were not engaged in battle. _For Tarot readings? Just two old wizards exchanging stories? _That was one thing he didn't know, and it wasn't in his nature to pry.

"Good", he said. "I'm sure Lans and Warren and the rest are anxious to get going."

"At once", Saradin nodded. He cared nothing for the golems that had been lost in battle, torn apart by enemy spells. Not even the special golem which they had procured from Albeleo Kaisse's vile laboratory, which should also be destroyed by now if the plan was proceeding on schedule.

Unlike his fellow disciple, Saradin knew them to be merely enchanted stone, easily recreated when he had the time and resources such as the lab in Balmorra had given him. This was a blessing, since the creatures' incredible resistance to physical punishment made them the ideal frontline guards- 'meat shields', as Deneb would refer to them- even the holy Brunhild sword, now lost to Destin by way of its rightful owner, had taken several hard swings to destroy them completely.

Seeing him finish the business at hand, Canopus glided down to him and made a brief bowing motion. "I hear much noise on the winds of the archipelago. The rest of my people have escorted the islands of Shangrila and Muspelm to the positions that you requested. They say that Supreme Overlord Hikash Vinzalf has engaged your decoy as planned, but is quick to return to the heart of Allamoot."

Destin nodded back. "Then we have to hurry. Once we arrive, take to the skies and try to spot him out among the dunes. We must remain aware of his location at all times."

"Agreed", the bird man said wistfully. Even their most arrogant and prideful fighters knew the dangers in any battle involving the Empire's single greatest soldier, and the stories from his daughter Rauny Vinzalf nee Rauny Zenobia had only worried him further. A major focus of the plan had been to isolate the Overlord, to keep him away from the rebels until the rest of the enemy could be silenced. While they had just stranded over five hundred enemy soldiers on a giant ice floe along with the _Drei-_Deva, Cale Previa, all estimates pointed to an even larger garrison at the fortress itself, and yet another huge force guarding the only port less than a day's march from it, Laisse. The hard part was yet to come. "What if he finds us?"

Destin's eyes narrowed in thought. "If so, then attack him from afar with your spells to try and slow him down. When and if he reaches us, only unit leaders are to engage, and all at once. If he is alone, we might have a chance at victory then."

The bird man snorted, for once sounding as disgusted with life as he had when they had first met. "Typical human plans, falling apart if the slightest thing goes wrong... But I do thank you for not mentioning this part of the plan to Yulie. We'd never hear the end of it."

"I surmised as much", he agreed, eyes drifting over to where Deneb was disciplining her newly-minted 'pumpkin soldiers', mostly with repeated whacks on their massive orange globes with her wand. Bizarre-looking, top heavy, untried, and untested since she'd created the Glass Pumpkin from a rare golden bough, the bipedal pumpkin heads would be the wild card, to be deployed when things went sour. "We all prefer to keep our loved ones safe, even on field of battle. Yulia shall remain here."

"That is all I could ask for", Canopus said simply. "When the war is over, my clan shall retire to the Sky Islands. If I should fall before the Empire's defeat, then I at least know she will be cared for by our people."

There was no sign that his headstrong sister had heard them. She merely emerged onto the the fortress' main balcony where all could see, confusion causing the crowd to quiet for a moment as they saw her wings spread, and a strangely melancholy look in her eyes.

She began to sing, using a calm-sounding yet nearly ethereal voice Destin had only heard her use once before, when she had dwelt upon the memory of Gilbert and Canopus' long ago falling out. They would later learn that this was planned between the bird girl and the wizard, set up to draw attention at a time when everyone was expecting the final confirmation to travel to Allamoot and the next battle.

_'O the fighting man shall from the sun  
Take warmth, and life from shining land;  
Find speed with god-sent winds to run,  
In men a caring hand,  
And find, when fighting shall be done,  
Great rest, and fullness in his band._

_Us all bright company of heaven_  
_Hold him in high comradeship;_  
_The morning's star, and heroes seven_  
_Kasolat's belt and sworded hip._

_The woodland trees which stand together,_  
_They stand to him each one a friend;_  
_They gently speak in the windy weather;_  
_They guide to valley and ridge's end._

_The kestrel hovering by the day,_  
_And the little owls which call by night,_

_Bid him be swift and keen as they;  
As keen of sound, as swift of sight._

Her passionate gaze travelled over to Canopus alone, clearly imploring to him whatever words could not, for whatever musical talents their clan had had clearly passed over the Wind Rider.

_And the blackbird speaks to him, it says 'O brother, brother,_  
_If this be the last song you shall sing,_  
_Sing well, for you will not sing another;_  
_Brother... sing.'_

The signal went off with the final verse, hurling into the sky with a _wheeeee_ sound before detonating miles above them, becoming a massive expanding sphere of glowing bits.

"Hm. Neat", Deneb observed from the ground, momentarily distracted from her duties. "I've got to ask Saradin to teach me that spell some time. Looks like fun. Not a bad song either."

Beside her, Destin had more serious sentiments in mind. With any luck, the various divisions they'd carefully positioned around Allamoot would all catch the signal in the sky. So would the Empire, though they wouldn't understand its significance since it was more commonly used to declare a victory at night instead of the early evening before the battle was truly over.

Prince Tristan commanded the main assault force. Its job was to tie up the Empire's port garrison at Lasieve, drawing them out into a protracted battle and convince the enemy that the rebels were indeed attempting a naval invasion north of Komaya pass. Warren had promised something useful in that regard, and despite all that had come between them Destin saw no reason to doubt him in this case.

Then Rauny's group of valkyrie and angels, still high up on the Isle of Muspelm, could use the dragons and Wyrms under their command to descend upon fort Allamoot, strafing it from above.

All of which would hopefully make the enemy fail to notice the final group making its appearance in the town closest to their position, the tiny fishery of Plinsport which more fliers from Shangrila had already taken care to liberate secretly, abstaining from the usual tradition of replacing the Empire's red flags with rebel blue.

It relied on a great deal of ifs, Destin knew that. _If _the enemy acted as expected,_ if_ they were strong as expected and _if_ the night's sandstorms were enough to obscure army movement as much as they usually did, then Allamoot, the eldest and greatest fortress in the lands of the south, would finally fall. And none outside the Empire would mourn its passing.

"Gather 'round", he barked to everyone, seeing Saradin return and Canopus rallying his own people once more. "I promise this is the only time I'll ask you all to do this... take my hand."

Naturally, several of them looked skeptical- he had shared this part of the plan with many, because many simply wouldn't understand it. He wasn't sure if _he_ completely understood the powerful magic spells which had gone into the creation of these rare and expensive objects. So long as they worked as advertised, he would not complain, and the bell had done that for them.

Most of the people in his divisions do doubt felt similar, because after a moment of uncertain murmuring, he felt a Paladin clasp a mailed hand to his own, a strong grip to emphasize a renewed faith in him. Saradin took the Paladin's hand, and a wizard tucked his staff into his belt and took the Truthsayer's other hand. A chain was swiftly formed around the courtyard, a large circle culminating with Deneb's own hand brushing his and setting his heart aflutter.

"Let's go get 'em", the witch announced simply, her Pumpkin soldiers arranged to her right.

Which left it to Destin to finish, leaving Deneb's hand momentarily to strap the strange item onto his foot. At the moment, it looked like a mere leather boot sold in any half-respectable tailor's ship in Malano, but Warren and Saradin had both examined the item and confirmed its power, power commonly identified with the magical item known as a '7 league boot' for reasons Destin had already forgotten.

"Plinsport", he said, retaking the witch's hand. "Take us to Plinsport, now!"

Nothing happened. He thought he might have felt a prickling sensation in the boot, but that was merely a bug. Much to their credit, the others did not laugh or complain. Instead, Canopus stepped forward, holding the arms of two of his own people. "Plinsport. Take us to Plinsport!"

"Plinsport!", Saradin echoed, comprehesion dawning. "Take us to Plinsport! To Plinsport, to Plinsport!"

He felt nothing in his boot, but the rest slowly took up the chant regardless, louder and louder. "Plinsport, Plinsport, now!"

He fought to keep frustration from his face, repeating the demand again and again. _Wonderful. All this preparation and we're ruined by a defective item. Without us to support the invasion they won't be able to hold the fort after the walls go down, and Debonair's group will be trapped in-_

"_NOW!"_

They were gone. Chills of raw magic not unlike Antanjyl's vengeful ghosts rocketed up Destin's spine in the white light, but he was comfortable enough with the knowledge that the boots had finally worked, that they were on their way through the invisible currents of magic, that soon they could join their allies and strike a crippling blow to the Empire's mightiest fortress...

_The world of the damned stretched before them endlessly, causing even the frozen land Galf had ruled to be remembered fondly compared with this eternal gloom. Aisha had been the first to fall, killed by a maddened giant's rush, and without their healer the group had quickly worn down whatever remained of their resolve._

_Guildus and Mildain had gone together, brothers not in blood but spirit, both paladins falling with identical grins. Then went Selec Fubuki, the lone proud samurai who had never once requested aid even with a swarm of higher-league demons bearing down on them with scythes and dark magic at the ready._

_And still Antanjyl would not release them. Destin, Lans and Deneb trudged onward, striking down walking atrocities with every mile, every time expecting the next mile into the never-ending darkness to be their last. Even the witch had abandoned her usual comic patter, now lacking the strength to keep it up._

_When their end finally came, it approached with unique dignity considering the setting; a dozen red-skinned devils phasing into being around them, followed by an arrangement of formerly-living beings whose sins had sentenced them to even deeper levels than the first, each one visibly mutilated by their stay but unable to die._

_Their exact makeup did not matter- the first wave alone would be enough. They all knew it, and braced themselves for the final battle._

_Then the large horned demon at the head of the group knelt down in what was unmistakable a posture of supplication, and the rest followed suit._

"_Worship?", Lans asked in confusion, looking around at the mass now bowing to them. "What manner of trickery is this, beast? If your aim is our end, then t'is better to get it on with."_

"_This is not a trick", the leader spoke in a rumbling, deep voice. Unlike many of his brethren, his was not at all suited to the high-pitched cackling that Imps were known for. "This is an accolade. You have reached the fifth level of Antanjyl. That is unprecedented for any mortal, living or dead."_

"_We've been going** down**", Deneb moaned in despair, unable to hide it any longer. "Not up."_

"_Congratulations accepted", Destin said, stepping past her with weapon drawn. He felt terribly numb, but Antanjyl's power had not completely sapped his will just yet. "So. Will you be killing us now?"_

_The creature's fanged maw broke into a grin. "Hardly. Even if our victory was certain, it has been centuries since we have witnessed the coming of a new demon lord!"_

_Destin saw his confusion mirrored on his remaining comrades' faces, and looked back to the demon. "A lord? I think there's been some misunderstanding. We just got lost."_

"_How fortunate that you did." Oblivious to their sarcasm, the leader gestured around at the endless gloom, punctuated only by the occasional pit of emerald fire. "In this world, strength is everything. There are only a handful capable of holding on to their sanity as you have, and even fewer that could have also defeated so many of the underworld's denizens while doing so." Raising a trident looking to be made of bones, he pointed the prongs at Destin. "You have proven yourself worthy of being crowned the lord of the fifth level!"_

"_No!", Lans shouted, drawing his own blade. "That cannot be! He is a good man!"_

_Sheathing the trident, the leader stretched his wings. "**You** are a good man, Lans Hamilton. You have no place down here among the damned, and you will be returned to the surface for your valour. These two, however... they must remain here. Even if we left you be now, you would be unable to ever escape, or survive for much longer. Antanjyl has you now, mighty human. In your heart, you already know this."_

_And he did. The creature's words merely gave credence to a notion that had been creeping through Destin's wearied mind for the past few days of their journey through the lands of the dead. He nodded slowly to Lans. Moved over closer to Deneb, so that they would not be parted... and sheathed his sword._

_Lans could not think of anything to say. His face said it all anyway. Regret. Sorrow. Apology. Respect. It all vanished in a pillar of angelic light, and then his friend was gone._

"_It will change you", the demon leader said as a futile warning. "Not merely your minds, but in the coming weeks your bodies will gradually be altered in order to survive down here. But all of us believe in your strength, humans. We are yours to command my lord, even should you wish us to invade the fourth or sixth level of Antanjyl."_

_But Destin was barely paying him any mind. He was not even looking at him, instead staring into the witches' teary eyes. Nothing on earth had ever made her so sad, not even the prospect of mortal death. "This is it, isn't it?", she asked in a voice like broken glass. "Down here. Together forever? I won't be able to come back this time._

_Kneeling down, he pulled her smaller form into a powerful hug. "Where wretches like us belong. Together forever. Is that so bad?"_

"_...No." A weak smile, but still a smile. A miracle in this place, from one who had never realized the prospect of permanent _cessation _before now. But even this was not the end. It could be a new life, different from all the times she had reincarnated in the mortal world._

_And it would be permanent. "No, I suppose not. This is what I wanted all along, isn't it?"_

_She leaned in closer. Despite the chill of this realm Destin's lips burned to the touch, perhaps a silent indicator of his own terror. How much more frightened must he be feeling, completely unused to the joys of an immortal's life when he had never even changed bodies before now?_

_It would be up to her to help him through it. With time and patience, he could become as respected a lord of demons as he had been of men. An eternal reign of greatness._

_They broke apart and she smiled, stronger this time, making an inviting gesture with one gloved hand. "I got you into this, cutie. The least I can do is make the best of it now. What is your wish, my lord Destin?"_

"_Destin?" The demon leader's face fell, an expression that looked slightly ridiculous on a face like that. "You are not the Demon Lord Prier?"_

* * *

SKIES OVER ALLAMOOT

Kaus Debonair knew his trade. At least, when it came to riding dragons through stormy skies such as these, Rauny Zenobia knew she had a great deal to learn from him. And for once, they could talk entirely in Highlander- according to Ara and Norn, her Zenobian still needed improvement.

_Always more to do_. But for now, the siege awaited them as they descended from Muspelm, a maelstrom of spells and arrows fired through the night sky in the hopes of striking the rebel fliers as they made closer passes at the already aflame fortress garrison. Seeing a barrage of fireballs sailing through the air and falling just short of Debonair's ride, she focused and brought down bolts of lightning in reply. "No coordination", she noted in surprise, almost disappointment really. She had thought her people better than that. Their rigorous training had failed them this day.

"Great effort has been made to leave them leaderless and disorganized", the traitorous general pointed out calmly. "If one of the Deva or lord Hikash were in charge we'd have much more to worry about. Speaking of..."

He made it sound seamless, like he'd actually been expecting a flock of dark feathered Raven clanners to break out of the cloud bank shrieking battle cries at the kind of mad animal pitch only Canopus' people could manage. "Finally. Now, gentlemen... and ladies. In Freya's name!"

Following the direction of his longsword as he pointed it towards the newcomers, a dozen dragons and other flying creatures directed all their attacks as one, and the 1st Deva followed that with his own special _Nibelung _technique, Blade. Up in the sky it looked even bigger, a curved blue line carving through cloud and then flesh. Multiple projectiles came back, but she figured the enemy division had already taken serious damage. _Tired already from having to fly around all day and keep tabs on Shangrila and Muspelm, while we're completely fresh._

There was a lingering burning sensation from where an Inferno spell had grazed her, but soon enough even that faded when Norn Dias was finished her chanting, unleashing healing magic across the entire group. The Malanian priestess had taken a young griffin instead of a dragon, knowing full well she had no place in direct combat, but unwilling to let her loved one out of her sight again, not after he'd nearly died from Gares Endora's torture of him.

Gares Endora, whom Rauny herself had once wished to join in matrimony. But something had happened to that handsome prince over the past twenty-five years that had turned him into a rampaging beast of black iron more akin to the Ogres of legend. Extracted his humanity completely. If indeed there was anything left of the young and charming man she had once been close friends with, it was buried deep, and Sage Rashidi Light was the obvious target for the blame.

Now, his very touch of her skin had chilled her to the bone when they had fought at Shangrila, and his offer even moreso. _Never. Never shall I wear the armour of the Black Knights, no matter how much power they offer. The Paladins and Muses of the Empire are disgraced enough already without turning to the ways of the Dark. _

And it was too late now anyway. Prince Fichs Tristoram Zenobia, who had to be fighting somewhere down below at this very moment, had done so much more for her than Gares Endora ever would. Better, he was the one who had shown her the worst excesses of her people up close, and convinced her that the time for drastic action had come. As annoyingly indecisive as his initial attitude on their reunion had shown him to be, Tristan was yet twice then man Gares was in _this_ particular princess' estimation.

So why had that chill occurred when he'd touched her? And why had he made the offer specifically to her, no one else?

_Never. _She clamped down on the reins of her Silver brood, preparing for the rush of a power dive, staring at a strange-shaped cloud as if it were a floating head. _Goodbye, my old friend. _The less she thought about desperate notions of saving prince Gares from his fate, the better. His path was already set. As was hers, now; Imperial law did not look upon oathbreakers kindly, something she was certain Debonair knew just as well as all the other Highlanders who had joined them, most of whom were in this very group.

That made her feel a bit better. It showed that she wasn't only one who had taken offense with the direction her homeland was going and sacrificed her oath to fix things. And a Deva would sacrifice even more by betraying Zeteginea even if they had tried to kill him and Norn first.

Only Kaus executed the next dive perfectly, his trademark hazy blue beam cutting into a guard tower that had held three enemy spellcasters and severing the crown, taking them with it. While technically 'Fort Allamoot' was a long line of stone walls, ports and towers that spanned baums from north to south along the shoreline, the enemy had chosen to keep the majority of their divisions not currently engaged at the spot where concrete transferred into the outermost area of the famous Dahlmud desert, a vast region of endless sand which even Rauny had never visited.

The sands here blended with fierce Highland winds at night and made visibility even worse- the enemy's counter of Muse-induced thunder strikes came from nowhere, made her mount cry out in pain, and she began slowly to heel it down instead of fighting to stay up. That was perhaps the only upside of fighting in a desert- the sands rushing up beneath her would cushion a fall, make it far less damaging than a tumble into water or hard earth.

As it had during the descent to Malano, her stomach threatened to give in, but she held on until the final slam threw her from the saddle. Prying herself from the disgusting sand, Rauny heard a faint, pitiful cry like rubbing glass, and hung her head briefly at the pair of scaly eyes that watched her even as they narrowed to desperate slits. The Silver dragon was dying.

"_Eiger rum Freya_", she offered softly. Of course the majestic creature did not understand Zeteginean. As Lyon and the others of his trade had implied, they recognized the tone of words better than meaning. She had not even learned this one's name, but everyone in the rebel army knew by now that all dragons stood somewhere upon the wide line dividing an animal intelligence from a human one- it was what made them so difficult to domesticate. If indeed animals, then they were the smartest animals in the world by far. She bowed her head. "_Geine-wohl_."

The words were offered in respectful tone, and the dragon seemed to nod back at her in acknowledgment before going perfectly still, its yellow eye sliding shut forever. When this was over, she'd have to come back and give it a proper burial.

Assuming she survived.

It was ten minutes after leaving her mount that she sensed the danger and hid herself behind the nearest dark sand dune. The enemy was alone, but large, and wasting no time heading for the fortress to help defend it. No sooner had she taken in the details of the colossal man's black battle armour than his mailed hand flew out, devoid of sword, and she rolled away from the detonation in the sand caused by shifting air. The flying grit added to the miasma, and it was several seconds before she could make out her attacker's shape again, and confirm what she had seen through the impromptu sandstorm.

And offer up her best Highlander curse.

The armour was unique. Thick iron pauldrons emblazoned with the mark of the sacred valkyrie Lenneth and blemished with countless kill marks all along the sides and legs. A winter's marination in ancient Highland dragon's blood lent it a shining gauze, as though it were encased in invisible glass for all time.

It was the battle armour of her father, Overlord Hikash.

He recovered first. Though Rauny bore the standard robes and silver plate mail of a high-ranking Imperial Muse, she had no doubt that he had instantly recognized her fair blond hair and exposed face. "...My _Rauncorintha_. Dare I imagine you have come back to us at this crucial moment?"

The words hurt worse than she expected, worse than when she'd been hurled from the dragon. Tightening her fists, she raised the cross at the tip of her pike, speaking once more in her native tongue, with which she was far more familiar. "I am sorry, Father. I have chosen my course, and I intend to remain there."

Looking back up she realized that her father had not stopped walking past her towards the burning fort. His large strides had nearly taken him out of sight already, and she ran to catch up, cursing how annoying it was to move through sand dunes the whole time. "Father! Father! If we are on opposing sides, then we must fight! I cannot-"

The howling winds seemed to steal whatever conviction she could put into her voice to reach him, and he did not stop walking. "This would be another part of Destin Faroda's plan, would it not? To force me to fight my _Rauncorintha_ and play on my heart, to delay my return to Allamoot? It would seem that you've chosen a cruel master, my dear."

_That_ made her angry, gave her rough combat voice a new strength as she ran after him. "Destin is _not_ my master, father. Nor is he a cruel man by any stretch of mind. This was a chance meeting arranged only by the Goddess Freya. Can we not recognize such a divine sign that the time for conflict between us has passed?"

"It shall require far more than happenstance", Hikash replied stiffly, only slowing his pace down a notch, "much more than mere coincidence, before I shall renounce thirty-five winters of loyal service to my homeland. If you are certain of the worthiness of your cause, then by all means remain with it my dear. Let the Goddess guide your sword, and justice be your drive."

"I am", she confirmed after a pause. "You taught me well. I'll always remember the look on your face when you saw me master this... _Thunder!_"

The bolts descended, grinding into the armour... and left only scorch marks behind. She hadn't expected much better- she of all people knew her father's power. If one judged purely in terms of physical strength instead of magic, he was certainly the mightiest warrior in all the Highlands. And now it was her sworn duty to stop him.

She howled to the sands. "Gather now and strike with power! Descend heaven's wrath, and tear away all false truths! _Thunder!"_

Using the full incantation produced a better result; an entire stream of the blinding bolts raining down on Hikash like a storm of Rauny's own making, briefly illuminating the night so they could even see the Rebel and Imperial fliers circling above. Looping trails of smoke rose from her father's armour... but he did not fall. He did not even stop walking.

"You must try harder", the Overlord said to her without a hint of mockery. He was never one for taunts, least of all against his eldest child. "Surely, your instructors have taught you better than this?"

"I don't think they ever figured I'd be fighting _you, _father."

He shrugged, never ceasing his walk across the sands. "Quite understandable. Will you lay down your weapon now, my dear? I really must reach the fortress Allamoot before your rebel friends can take it for their own. As you know, our country's future depends on it."

"I know", she nodded back, just as she had with the dragon. "_That_ is why I cannot allow you to proceed any further north." And she brought the pike down, repeating the full incantation of Thunder as before with a silent prayer to Freya.

And there it was, her prayer's answer, the world's tiniest twitch in response to her positioning. The single ley line running across the dune from the wall to the main gate, which only wizards could supposedly detect.

Rauny hadn't known about any of that. It had merely felt 'right' to unleash her last attempt from the top of that particular dune. The bolts were much more controlled this time, merged into a tight column 'only' the width of a house that jabbed into the seams of Hikash's armour like a giant's blade.

Then there was the briefest grunt from her father, and he stopped walking forward.

"...Much better", he noted in pride, turning to bring his weathered eyes upon her at last. "You've developed your skills considerably since you left us."

"The true warrior can never rest their blade", she quoted back at him earnestly. "Either the blade becomes sharper, or it breaks. There can be no middle ground, there can be no retreating. And yes, sparring with the rebels' greatest heroes has helped me a lot more than hanging off Baron Apros' arm like some common catspaw."

The mention of the late Baron seemed to anger him, or at least diffuse the look of honest pride he'd been making her feel most uncomfortable with. "I hope that's not your reason, daughter mine. But that look in your eyes... tell me... are you satisfied with your new companions? Do they treat you as befits a paladin of your rank and caliber?"

She forced a laugh from that, nearly fatally dropping her guard. "Actually, half of them still think I'm an Imperial spy. But I'm confident that they'll accept me in time."

"As well they should", Hikash agreed. "And where do you see _yourself, _Rauny, in that time?"

Of course. It was foolish to think she could hide this from him of all people. She might have deceived him once at Malano, but she was no actor. The fresh zeal for life had shone through her eyes like newborn stars, whether she wanted it to or not. She drew back, mustering strength of will. "Sitting on a throne, father. As the married queen of King Fichs Tristoram Zenobia."

_That_ statement probably could have stopped her father in his tracks without the need for such powerful attacks. His flinty eyes had gone wide, but she knew there was always a feeling like the very land was trembling when he was truly angry, and this was only a light vibration at best. He was shocked, perhaps, but not furious at her choice like thousands of proponents of pure Highland bloodlines would be. His mouth opened briefly then he marshaled his words properly.

"That is... all I could ask for. If you truly love this prince Tristan, then you have my blessing, as well as my prayer that nothing comes between you before this conflict ends. I would hate to see you made a widow so soon."

"I do", she said, her gaze firm. How to explain to him without seeming soft and sentimental? "I _do_, father. He's not a true warrior- he deplores all violence, in fact- but his courage is without peer. He is kind, but he is practical. He makes me feel like prince Gares used to, before his..."

"Before he embraced the Black Knight's road", Hikash summarized with a nod. "Then there is nothing more to be done. You must choose, _Rauncorintha_. Show no hesitation. Attack me, or retreat now. Nothing less is your sworn duty to your new commander."

Indecision made her hesitate, and Hikash gave a short sigh. "No regrets, now. That is the one thing that I don't wish to see from you. Fight me as you would any other enemy. Show me your pride as a Highlander!" He threw his left arm forward, thrusting into the air, and again Rauny had to duck and roll to avoid an explosion of sand. Another attempt at Thunder only inflicted partial damage, and so she moved her halberd back to the melee position and, shrieking a war cry that would have scared Tristan, charged.

Something else got there first. It first appeared to be a mass of golden light undimmed by the sands, but as father and daughter lowered the mailed arms they'd both instinctively raised for protection, the light broke into dozens of smaller shards. The shards became people- wizards, paladins, strange figures with abnormally large heads.

And Destin Faroda. She spotted him in the middle of the crowd, hardly believing what she saw. "Not Plinsport", the rebel leader observed once his head cleared of visions, looking around the desert and drawing back at the sight of Hikash so close by. "But I'll take it if it means saving Rauny. Is he alone now?"

Stumbling over the less familiar language of the Zenobians, the princess tried to order her thoughts. "Affirm. Trying to breach- _reach_ Allamoot now. Fight?"

An explosion of sand threw the frontline of the newly arrived divisions into chaos, and he waved them back. "Only the leaders! Everyone else who is not a bird man, march with Ordas to the fortress and attack along the west wall!"

He'd turned his back on their enemy while directing them, and had not turned back since then. Instead he went very still, nodding to Saradin and Deneb as they both took up positions around the Overlord, Rauny following suit.

"So you're the head man of Zeteginea", he remarked. "Rauny's told us much of you. I will give you one chance- stand down, or we shall kill you."

Her father seemed equally calm about the whole ordeal, speaking in curt Zenobian now. She couldn't see how- her own heart was pounding like a golem's footsteps. "And you are the rebel who has caused us so much trouble. Your rocky alter ego did not impress me, but mayhap that was your intent?"

"It was", Destin acknowledged with a nod. "Anything to distract you while the rest of our plan was executed."

"I see." Hikash threw his right hand forward, and a cry went up from the assembled wizards. They were in retreat now, falling back from the small canyon that had just opened itself up before them like an Ogre's hungry maw. "Most unfortunate, then, that your clever plan to destroy the walls of Allamoot with your wizards has gone astray. You have skirted the majority of our forces with magic only to run into me here."

It was only then she noticed father had drawn his sword, _Gottwachter_. In this grit it looked less magnificent than Rauny knew it to be, a dark pillar of metal, but its sheer size made Saradin step back. _Freya help us..._

Destin turned, and all the others launched their attacks as one. Two blazing streams of fire from Saradin covered a strike that had lain hidden in the storm above- a stun spell of Deneb's normally emitted from a cloud.

""___Frost of Niflheim, bestow Justice's fair chill!", __Destin had screams while all this was going on. ____ "The burning moment breaks, all things else are out of mind, and the joy of battle takes thee by the throat, and leaves thee blind! We shall shatter the passion of frozen hearts! ICECLOUD!"_

The Overlord fell back clutching his shoulder- even here in the desert night, the cutting ice had retained much of its potency. But his counter attack was again aimed at a group who had done him no harm- a massive vertical cut with his sword, the resulting razor wind eviscerating several wizards and setting off a Pumpkin soldier prematurely, the detonation causing even more casualties on that count.

"Over here!", Deneb taunted, pulling the lid of one eye down and sticking her tongue out, the obscene gesture masking their desperation to provoke the Overlord away from the wizards. "Nyahhh! Have a taste of this, big guy! PUMPKIN STORM!"

As excited as she sounded, the attack was actually only a single large pumpkin dropping from above to explode into fragments and juice and seeds when it struck the Overlord on the top of his helmet. The confusion it caused in everyone present was more valuable as Rauny and Destin both recovered and repeated their previous attacks.

Then, through the miasma of disturbed sand and the din of lightning and crashing ice spikes, her father's voice rang through as he charged the wizard division, louder than she could recall hearing him: "Raze! Destroy the world with war's unstoppable fury! NIEBELUNG BLAST!"

The golden globe was massive, easily twice the size of when general Figaro had used the technique. Whatever fraction of visibility or hearing had remained to them vanished in an instant as it went off, and Rauny could feel the deaths of the wizards her father had targeted as they were blown apart from beneath.

When her senses returned, she could just make out the red-clad form of Destin running to intercept, feel the unnatural chill of the _Phantom_ spell. Not Destin's, but Saradin's spell trying to steer the Overlord away to no avail.

Which left it up to her, the only other one of them with any skill in direct combat. Further detonations from Deneb and Saradin kept Hikash distracted long enough to drive her pike into the huge man's exposed back... then dart away as he wheeled about to confront her, his blade keeping Destin's at bay.

But not completely. The rebel leader's weapon suddenly gleamed and both Highlanders withdrew from the surge of magic-induced heat. On the other side, she entered a well-practised series of slashes enhanced by the electric charge of the Thunder spell, knowing already that the stabbing end of her weapon was more likely to become lodged in Hikash's armour than do any serious damage.

They were like the twin hornets of legend now, neither capable of felling the great beast alone but by alternating able to at least keep it at bay. Whenever his attention focused too much into an attack on one, the other would be there to punish him with a strike along his exposed flank. Strike which had to be hurting him, despite his lack of reaction.

Yet for all this enthusiasm and coordination, nothing could stop him from completing the objective he had set his sights on- the rebel wizards. Those who had not already fled to Plinsport found themselves tossed into the air by atmospheric detonations, or worse by a second golden globe of pure destruction, the perfect expression of the philosophy of general Figaro.

She had lost track of the number of strikes and dead wizards when another giant pumpkin hammered Hikash from above giving them the chance to disengage. And breathe. _Breathe_. She had never felt so tired, and the land battle could not have lasted more than fifteen minutes...

"Enough", her father declared crossly, taking the opportunity for his own leaping disengagement- straight back across the artificial sand ravine he'd created. "I have no further time to waste here. Pursue me at your own peril!"

"OVERLORD!", Destin yelled across to him, quickly seeing the danger. "I had thought Highlanders were courageous warriors! Do you flee us now!? Are you a coward?!"

Seeing the dour expression on Rauny's face, Hikash laughed. More, she thought, to try and cheer her up than because he actually thought the taunt to be funny.

"We are courageous, Chaos-Bringer, but ne'er are we fools. Without your powerful wizards, you have no hope of breaching Allamoot's walls. That division you sent on ahead will be unable to penetrate alone. And should you have another such group attacking from the north end of the desert, I've already dispatched half of our standing forces to Lasieve. All that remains is to chase off your flying divisions."

Sheathing his sword, the Overlord went on to give him a brief two-finger salute. "You have led us on a merry chase indeed, young man. But tonight your uncanny luck has failed you. We have you. We have won."

Looking as though he was about to leap the chasm, Destin visibly sagged... and looked up. "No. It would be more accurate to say that Kaus Debonair has won on this night."

Hikash followed his gaze, not quite sure what he was seeing with such poor visibility. Even had the skies been clear, this was one terrible weapon Rauny knew her father had never faced before. He would not even know what the cloud of black specks descending on Allamoot _was_.

"They're termites, lord", Saradin provided earnestly. "A nearly extinct creature with a voracious appetite for wood. That is the last colony in all the lands of the south, possibly in the world, conveyed to us by the merchant lord named Toad. They shall devour the wood that forms the foundations of Fort Allamoot, and then quickly be devoured in turn by local colonies of ants. And the walls of that fortress-"

A deafening groaning cut him off, and Hikash was no longer paying him any attention at all. His eyes were entirely fixated on the way the huge fortress' walls were sagging downward, cracking from the coastal bases and releasing ashphalt like plumes of steam. The wave of dust was barely noticeable among the sands, but everyone could tell that the walls had taken a massive blow.

"Debonair did that?", Hikash asked, for once at a loss for words. "Unleashed _that_?"

"From above", Destin confirmed, the false wrath he'd tried to bait the man with gone. "As I instructed him to. He dropped the jar containing them. And now the angels and bird men who have been waiting patiently on our Sky Islands have their signal to attack, joining Debonair and Norn's divisions. They'll fight it out, and then Ordas' division will arrive on the ground and finish the job."

"I see", Hikash closed his eyes, not wanting to reveal shock to his greatest enemy. "Indeed. Quite an extensive setup. For years, I have wished to see such a degree of planning and coordination in my own officers, but none of my chosen, my Deva, were truly up to it."

"To be fair, you didn't know we had those", Saradin offered graciously. "Or the magical warp items. Without those, this attack would indeed have been a failure."

"Bad luck, I suppose", the man agreed, giving his daughter one final glance. "If you'll excuse me then, I must attempt to salvage the situation as best I can. As enjoyable as killing you for this would be, _boy_, duty always comes first."

And with that, the Supreme Overlord of the Imperial forces turned and ran. And no man or woman there could stop him.

* * *

FORT ALLAMOOT

Destin had been very clear on his instructions to each rebel division- the termites were to be allowed at least five minutes to finish their duty of snacking on the walls surrounding Allamoot, and no one was to approach before then unless they felt like fighting naked.

Even now, general Kaus Debonair was wary as his fliers approached the ravaged parapets, keeping a wide berth from where ten minutes ago he had dropped the harmless-looking glass canister on the heart of the fortress. He would never forget when he'd first seen the black swarm of ravenous insects tearing through Zenobia's own walls, leaving his garrisons out of position at choke points which no longer existed. Just one of many miracles that had defeated him on that day and led him to this point.

He breathed a sigh of relief- the princess Rauny had assured him this would be the last time the rebellion would use such a terrible weapon. The merchant Toad had no further such bottles in stock, and the Roshian priest who had preserved the original sample had died from the plague some two months prior. A good thing it was that the creatures were so short-lived.

Now, though, it was their turn to play their role. Allamoot had had its walls stripped from it, but the enemy force within remained strong despite being reduced to a quarter of its original numbers. This would be his first battle against his own people, and he searched the skies for Norn so as to exchange glances, for her to let him know it was all right.

His people were ready and able, mostly Highlanders joined by recruits from the Sky Islands. Many had fallen, but four divisions remained. Initially the seraph Yushis was meant to join them here in support role, but she had disappeared on the eve of the attack. Reluctance to shed blood seemed to be a natural part of her, just as it was with the grand majority of her people.

Debonair shook his head, his long hair swaying on the wind. His people could figure out what exactly the existence of real angels on the Sky Islands meant for their beliefs _after_ the war was over. For now, there were enemies to slay, and despite the fact that he likely knew many of the people down there, he would not insult their lineage and honour by offering surrender. _Mercy is a weakness._

He pulled his own ride, a rare Gold brood from the Tundra, up alongside the rest- it seemed eager to begin. "Gentlemen... we know what lies ahead. Do not let familiarity stay your hand, but give our brethren a fair demise. Be wary, for none know what lies waiting for us, or how long it shall be before captain Lans' divisions reach us."

"WAAAAIT!"

The new arrival burst from a cloud bank like a knife, looking as though he'd barely held on to his Red dragon, an unwieldy thing bigger than Debonair's Gold with an equally oversized head and fangs.

"Galnam Lyon", Kaus noted, already sensing curdling hostility among some of his people. "So glad that you could find the time to join us now that the enemy's wall is fallen. You may lead the assault on the west wing of the fortress."

Messily bearded and windblown, the mercenary shook his head and gave a toothy grin. "Don't think so, hoss. I'll be going up the middle same as you. The big boss man has gotta be in there, right? Then that's where I'm goin'!"

More annoyance among the crowd, but a pleading look from Norn made Deobair reconsider his words. "Sir Lyon... we are of course, very grateful for your contributions to the rebellion. Many of these dragons and griffins were tamed by you, I believe. But these enemies are not animals. They are top-rank Zeteginean troops."

"No difference then", Lyon replied casually, ignoring the dirty looks he'd invited. "You sayin' I can't fight good as them? Didn't you hear me when I said that I fight like 10,000 men?"

_Ignorant Zenobian swine_, the thought popped into Kaus' head before he remembered which side he was on. "I'm saying that prince Tristan will not be paying you any extra Goth if you come with us and fight. You'll be in danger. I will not ask any of my people to watch your back down there."

The man's eyes seemed to widen in shock, just a bit too theatrical to be real. "Oh yeah, hadn't thought of it like that. No profit in getting myself killed, right?"

Debonair was thinking of a reply that would salve the mercenary's wounded ego somewhat when he gave a keening animal howl that echoed through the clouds and was likely picked up by the Imperials still within the fort.

And the world dropped out from under Kaus Debonair, as it had for several of the others in his divisions. Without being prompted, his Gold had suddenly dove straight down towards the conflagration of Allamoot at the highest possible speed, nearly causing him to drop his sword.

Forcing his hands back up to the reins, he offered a Zeteginean curse Norn would have scolded him for- he hadn't been lying when he'd estimated Lyon was responsible for taming and training a good number of the rebels' flying beasts, with the more reasonable Gilbert Oblion taking the lion's share of the rest. Seeing Debonair and so many of his people suddenly diving, the rest had followed suit.

To his relief, the mad dive did not result in anyone falling off that he could see. With practiced ease he angled the reins to regain control, partly forcing, partly _willing_ his Gold dragon to stop at the top balcony on the ruined roof.

Lyon was right there, tucked in behind him, smiling as if he'd just been given a pay raise. _So undignified._ Suppressing his desire to simply hammer the upstart, Kaus surveyed the area, taking note of the places where the enemy had chosen to gather, and which places had simply collapsed after the termite bath.

"Worgen", the beast tamer called, for once sounding serious. "A good pack of 'em on the east wing."

"Not to worry, we have some Silver dragons going that way, and the Daimyos are with them as well."

Likewise, Norn had regained enough control to bring her griffin to a halt and step onto the balcony, dismissing it after. Two more Muses had actually pulled up from the dive, holding nearby. Kaus waved them eastward, drawing his long blade with the other hand. "Five of us, then, to handle whatever awaits in the main hall. Norn..."

"You need me", she said, not even bothering to outline all the other reasons why she was staying at his side. "Even a Deva can use healing."

"True enough", he muttered. "Though it's not often we've needed it until recently... And of course general Figaro would never consent to it anyway."

"Which would be why he's dead." She took care here not to let her voice crack- even if the young Rowdain Figaro had always held a disturbing bloodlust within him, he had still been his friend and fellow Deva for many years. "I know- I was there when we fought him. All alone in his frozen hall at the Kalbi Penninsula, and still we barely won. If he'd had clerics helping him then..."

_Then Norn might have died at his hand instead_, was the first idea that came to mind. And Destin Faroda might likely have died there as well, which meant no one could have stopped Shangrila's descent destroying Zenobia, and he never would have seen Norn or Figaro's face ever again before the end.

"It is not for _that_ reason that I will allow you to come with us, Norn."

Rubbing some stray ash off her nose, an abnormally long one which she had been mocked at the Roshian convent for, she gave a warm smile, born of compassion for all living things, not merely her lover. "I know that you feel the same way I do. We may have to do something about that later, but for now... it'll manage, Gods willing."

"Gag me with a spoon", the third member of their group complained. His dragon seemed equally impatient "Can we just get this on with already?"

"Some day, barbarian", Kaus suggested darkly, "some day you may be so lucky as to find what we have found in each other. On that blessed day, perhaps I shall do as you request."

They went, hurrying down the steps with the two dragons behind. Almost immediately, the general grimaced. Being far older than any Zenobian or even Zeteginean architecture, Allamoot followed a design all of its own that was not conductive to easy or quick navigation. The grand stairway zigzagged down the body of the fortress without any sign as to which floor led where or for what purpose.

When a hallway became too narrow for dragons, they simply unleashed breath weapons of ravaging flame and piercing ice, crushing walls apart without a care, leaving the sides open to the outside air and sand. The desert fortress had already lost its entire outer shell- there was no point in going to any effort to preserve what remained.

Three Paladins awaited them on the main floor, all of them adept at healing each other when needed and managing to inflict several wounds on the group before dying to blade and whip and breath, leaving Norn the time to mend the damage with Roshian prayer. Past that, a handful of less skilled troops merely panicked at fled at the sight of an Imperial Deva marching into their barracks accompanied by dragons.

Finally, at the end of the main hall where the three main stairwells converged at a round stone dais, the guardians of the fortress woke. Had there been similar works throughout Allamoot, Kaus might even have mistaken them for more architecture, but having two identical statues of such incredible detail did not mesh with how spartan the rest of the place's setup had been.

Spreading his arms to hold everyone back, the Deva stared wide-eyed at the twin colossi, marveling for a moment at the detailed craftsmanship which had gone into their identical spiked hair, togas and massive builds, both easily twice the height of a normal golem, if that was indeed what these were.

"Ah, brother", the left statue spoke first, deep and laid-back tones breaking a morose pose of contemplation near the dais, the one on the right following his move closely. "It would seem that the Rebels have finally arrived."

"It would seem that way, brother", the right statue concurred in an identical voice. "The Rebels have arrived. What was it that we were to do when they arrived, brother? I'm afraid that I've forgotten."

"A valid question, brother", the left twin assured him as they both stretched their rocky arms and calves, creaking as they did so but showing them off all the same. "Throw a party, perhaps? Is that it, brother?"

The right twin seemed to consider it for a moment, then cracked his rock knuckles in unison with his twin. "No, brother, I do not think so. Not a party. It was something else, wasn't it...? Master Radish said we were to kill them all, didn't he?"

"Yes, of course. Something _else_", the left twin sounded relieved. Relieved, and eager, and that eagerness slowly creeping onto both their otherwise rather blank-looking faces in the form of a demon's grinning rictus. Two of them. "That _is_ what master Radish said we were to do didn't he, brother? That when the Rebels arrived, we were to kill them all, yes?"

"Yes brother, we were to kill them all", the right twin finished in complete certainty this time. "It's such a thrill, isn't it? Nearly as good as a party, is it not?"

"Okay hoss", Lyon announced, pulling his whip taut. "You know what? You two can go back to makin' lovey-dovey. Anything's better than listening to these two jokers prattle on all day. Up to and including a kick in the groin."

"Don't _say_ that", Norn cautioned him nervously, moving back behind the dragons and readying her ankh. "They may just oblige you. Are these golems, Kaus?"

"Something like them", the Deva agreed furtively, moving against the left one and directing his Gold to the other. The breath weapons would not be as effective as magic, but it was the best they had. "I had heard that Albeleo was working on making improved versions at Balmorra. These ones seem to be working directly for Rashidi though."

"Or 'Radish'", Lyon pointed out, still whimsical. "Hey general tightwad, 5,000 Goth says I take out the right one before you beat the left."

"No bet", Kaus snarled. "Take this seriously, Zenobian. Your whip will be useless against these abominations. You should run."

Whatever confident quip Lyon might have offered was lost when the Gemini twins charged at their targets, battering them with fists and feet of rock, and there was no further time to exchange words.

Kaus had fought Golems of all types before. They made natural sparring partners since even his sword could not cut them deeply, inflicting only superficial damage most of the time, and many a rogue wizard had tried relying on them to save them from Zeteginean justice. Over time he had learned their weak spots, the common places where the magic holding their bodies together was weak, and he had held his own even in cases when counter-magic was unavailable.

This experience allowed him to barely survive against the left Gemini twin. The thing was more acrobatic than its size and weight should have logically allowed, flipping and leaping about trying to catch his human adversary off guard with punches and kicks. Repeated healings from Norn and diversionary blasts of flame from Lyon's dragon kept him intact and conscious.

It was not long however, before he knew the same would not be the case for Lyon himself. The other Gemini twin was ignoring every whip strike, focusing instead of battering past the Gold's fangs and claws and frost and planting a punch into the beast's wide torso, leaving behind a circular gouge of dark red.

"They are quite strong, brother", the left twin observed as the duels continued, his twin gaining more and more of an advantage all the while. "Do you think that we should use _that_ attack? That would teach them."

"A most interesting idea, brother", the right twin said, voice not even slowed from the ice encasing his shoulder. "Yes, they are quite strong, so why not? Let us use _that _attack, brother. That will teach them."

On cue, both of them leapt back to the dais in the center of the hall. Before Lyon could pursue or any breath could reach them, Debonair's opponent lifted Lyon's into the air as if to suplex him. Hauling his twin brother about as easily as a farmer baling hay, their arms and legs locked together, melding as if both had become one single sculpture, and immediately Kaus sensed a great power at work. _"Schiesse! Get_ back! NOW!"

"Castor!", the left one cried out over the sudden rumbling overtaking the hall.

"Pollux!", the right screamed.

"GEMINI!", the twins howled in unison, their eyes flashing inhumanly, the noise echoing through the entire grand hall until Kaus thought it would crumble.

It did, but not until the attack itself was launched. Instead of an energy wave or any of the powerful spells they had come to know and fear from wizards such as Rashidi, Omicron or Albeleo, this attack merely launched the right twin- Pollux? - forward like a cannonball. Too fast to avoid, too fast to even shout a warning as the living projectile sped past Kaus and down the hall into the chest of Lyon's dragon.

When his senses returned, still ringing from the awful din, Kaus nearly dropped his blade, trying to reconstruct the scene in his head from the brief flashes of it he'd been able to see. Pollux lay in the heap at the far end of the hall, though he was slowly getting back up with only a small amount of lag to his actions to show for it.

He had passed into and through Lyon's red dragon, impacting the creature's wide chest scales then burrowing through them with sheer kinetic force. Unlike its brethren the second stage of a red dragon's evolution allowed it to stand upright on two legs, leaving the front two free to rip and tear like arms like any bipedal form.

However, that form was now missing too much crucial flesh, a massive man-sized gap where the Gemini twin had passed through the chest and out the other side covered in dragon's blood. Most of its wide jaw and torso was torn away along with the left arm, and only now was the rest of the severed body succumbing to gravity, toppling to the floor in a horrid mess.

And Galnam Lyon howled something just as loud as the attack had been, something only other dragons might comprehend. Because Castor was closer, he launched himself at the massive enemy, his rage nearly enough to allow him to pass through the griffin-level gust of wind he had summoned with a wide haymaker striking at the air about him. The mercenary flew back to be caught by Norn, and Debonair stepped in to place himself between the left twin and the others, hoping _Tzerna_ could at least delay Pollux.

"Master of all swords", the 1st Deva whispered quickly as if speaking to his long blade, "Partake of mine energy and cut down all wicked souls! Niebelung... BLADE!"

It was not often he'd used the entire incantation of the technique- most opponents would not have allowed him the time to concentrate and focus on it. But for all their strength, these two living statues had not come across as terribly intelligent. They had never travelled outside the fortress they had been built to protect. They had not actually fought someone for many years. Possibly decades, for if they had word would have irrevocably spread throughout the Empire of such power. They had to be recently awakened.

Then, the general noted, amazed at his own rationality at this point in time, it stood to reason they would not realize how much his being able to recite those words would amplify the strength of the technique Freya had granted him.

The resulting line of blue energy slashed across the hall towards the dais, maiming pillar and brazier and wall alike. Castor merely looked curious at first, stretching out a hand, then the line burned into him and he rocked back. He did not scream or make any noise showing he'd been hurt, but the rock-scar running along his palm, down the arm and across his chest down to his right pectoral said enough.

"Have they hurt you, brother?" This from Pollux, who had now entered rapid-fire air thrusts, pummeling _Tzerna_ with invisible blasts of wind. "Does it hurt? That looks quite serious."

"It hurts. It is quite serious. brother", Castor asserted, standing and fixing Kaus with the same mad grin as before. "They have hurt me. But at least now people will be able to tell us apart."

"Ah! You are so optimistic. Indeed, people will be able to tell us apart now brother. Shall we kill them all then?"

"Indeed, brother. We are quite optimistic." The scarred twin knelt down, preparing to charge their position and Kaus' braced blade. "Now let us kill them all, shall we?"

An explosion from somewhere outside threw the charge off slightly, and Kaus seized the chance. This faster Blade was not the full incantation, but he aimed it at the ceiling, not Castor. The resulting collapse was as deafening as the Gemini Attack had been, tons of rubble crashing down on the scarred twin. Kaus turned around and grimaced. As he'd figured, Pollux had completed his own charge into and past his gold dragon, and was now close enough to threaten Norn and Lyon.

"Trying to get back together?", he asked in scorn, raking the other twin with his blade again and again. "So you can use that combination attack of yours? I think NOT, _gentlemen_. Keep them separate! Whatever you do, they can't be allowed to use that again!"

He hadn't meant for Norn to act, but she stood strong nonetheless, hold up her ankh and reciting a chant. A large cross formation of light identical to her staff appeared, shooting forward past more wind blasts and stunning the right twin for a moment.

Lyon was even more eager, lunging once again and this time reaching his target. He clung to the statue closely as a lover, stabbing again and again at the joints with his skinning knife. In truth this was more hindrance than help, for Debonair did not dare strike with his blade while an ally was grappling with his target. He sighed in relief when _Tzerna_ recovered from her earlier beating and spewed blinding frost from her maw, prompting the mercenary to leap away just in time.

"Gold dragons, abomination", the general said evenly, preparing another strike. "Creatures born from the coldest glaciers of northern Zeteginea, capable of cracking even stone and metal with their breath. Everything freezes, and very little survives, but they possess a greater wit and nobility than you ever shall."

For a welcome change, Pollux did not say anything, perhaps reluctant to do so without his brother accompanying him. Instead he let the next strike spin his body around, charging back towards Tzerna and knocking the beast out with a high uppercut, the hunched gold brood lacking the bipedal claws to block such an attack. The frost had not slowed him much, and Lyon's black rawhide whip remained ineffective as ever.

And Castor was back, bursting from the pile with a languid stretch. His first strike warped the air and blasted Norn off her feet and out of the healing spell she'd been working on for Tzerna. Her counter went almost unnoticed. "He_ insults_ us, brother. Are we not smarter than a dragon?"

Pollux looked confused, then slightly angry. "I should think we are smarter than a dragon, brother. Can they speak? No. He insults us."

"Then he should pay a price for his insults, brother."

"Indeed, brother. There is always a price for insults."

He saw the synchronized charge coming- expected it really, considering their words- but his sword could only block one. Pollux fell back from the impact, but Castor continued to pummel Kaus' guard until he could hold it back no longer.

A heavy fist crashed into his sword arm's wrist and he cried out, prompting the scarred twin to aim a kick at his knees in hopes of crushing them as well. It took the general off his feet, the follow-up taking him in the chest and blasting him into a wall where he lay there and writhed.

_Pain_. Overlord Hikash had taught him ways to fight off pain, just as he had taught it to his other three apprentices. This had allowed him to continue to fight Destin Faroda at top form until Lans Hamilton had slashed along his shoulder beneath the armour, nearly severing the arm. Internal wounds could not be simply ignored like that, for even if he could ignore pain his body would refuse to cooperate. "...Norn. Healing, please! I cannot move!"

But no Zenobian prayer reached his ears. Turning his head despite the searing sensation it brough to his neck, he could see she was occupied trying to avoid being similarly flattened by Pollux's strikes, each move bringing the brothers closer to each other until their backs touched, and they folded up into the combined statue again.

"CASTOR!"

"POLLUX!"

"GEMINI!"

Everyone still capable of moving now knew to dodge the moment they heard the third word. For a moment Kaus' spirits rose as he saw the cannonball, which appeared to be Castor this time, fly past Norn's head to pulverize a wall.

Yet it was all too brief a victory. Both immediately resumed the attack against the remaining rebels, this time without their strongest member to take the hits or strike back. He could see Tzerna and Norn being backed into a corner, himself too weak and too afraid of breaking their concentration to advise them.

It happened nearly as quickly as the Gemini attack, Pollux's hand slashing down to break the dragon's spine. Tzerna shrieked and thrashed, but the unscarred twin merely shoved his arm further down, breaking more bones on the way. They would-

"Hey."

Pollux's fist slowed, and stopped. In the dim light it took several seconds for Kaus to recognize the dark hide of the whip that had caught it, wrapping around it and pulling with all of Galnam Lyon's strength. "Hey asshole. C'mere."

Castor lunged, and Lyon seemed to throw his arm forward with another dragon's howl. Another crash rang through the hall, throwing him further off balance as he tried and failed to stand.

He could only watch. Watch as Castor fell back, a look of complete astonishment on his slate face, looking like a child bitten by an insect, the new breach along the front of his chest leaking bits of some hybrid between rock and still-living flesh.

In short, he looked like most brothers would upon being slapped by a family member.

Equally shocked, Pollux yanked hard on the whip around his arm and Lyon allowed it to pull him over to them, gleefully wrapping both legs around Pollux's neck, the head nearly being the size of his entire body.

"Hey", the mercenary called. "Stop hittin' yourself."

Pollux thrashed further, but that merely gave his arm more strength as Castor lunged again, heavy fist striking his brother across the face as the whip guided it.

"Stop hittin' yourself."

Pollux had had enough. Vaulting into the air, he came down on his back, forcing the beast master to vault off to avoid being pancaked. The whip released, then lashed out at Castor's third charge, catching his left arm and bringing it down onto his twin's prone body.

"Stop hittin' yourself", Lyon repeated, looking somewhere between fury and a demon's amusement at suffering. "Hah! Anything to get out of fighting me, is that it? Should've known better than to challenge the mighty _Galnam Lyon_, hoss! You face the one man in the world capable of fighting like 10,000 men!"

Ordinarily Kaus would have shuddered at such unprofessional bragging and posturing, but it was drawing their attention away from Norn. "He mocks us, brother", Pollux said, climbing back to his feet but unable to hide his new injury nor that for the first time, the Gemini twins sounded _angry_. "He is most aggravating."

"Yes, brother. We are getting aggravated."

"Yes we are, brother. It is most aggravating to be so aggravated. Shall we kill him together?"

"Yes brother, let us kill him together, shall we?"

Lyon regarded them both with disdain. "Guess you both don't have the brains to see when you're outmatched, hoss."

"Castor!", the left twin snarled.

"Pollux!", the right twin growled.

"GEMINI!"

How to avoid a flying sphere of destruction that could pierce and shred dragon's flesh? A dragon could not dodge- even the young ones were too big. But Lyon had always been a hunched figure, short and limber as befit his profession.

And as Kaus watched helplessly with frightened eyes, he realized he was moving with the agility of the swiftest of desert predators, and that this was exactly what the mercenary had wanted the Gemini Twins to do.

Pollux flew forward too fast to see- it was only after he had flashed past that it could be seen whether or not the target had been hit. Striking the far wall with a terrible din, the massive enemy rebounded, losing none of his speed, still with his arms and legs and head tucked into the spherical shape. First striking _Tzerna _and finishing the work Castor had started, Pollux then shot back towards Lyon, forcing him to leap to the other side of the hall to avoid death.

Angled upward after the last bounce, the living sphere angled off the ceiling and back around the left wall, striking and shattering the door they'd come in from- Kaus had no further doubts they could somehow control the ricochet of such a technique. He winced and struggled to rise- if Pollux so much as brushed Norn, she could die from it, but she had wisely hidden in one of the secluded corners behind a large bit of rubble left behind by the termites.

Lyon, however, was now standing in the exact center of the grand hall, exactly between the main door and Castor. He could no longer dodge such speed, nor did he attempt to. He merely threw out his hands, bracing himself for Pollux's sphere of blinding death to take him full force.

And keep going. To continue to fly along the hall at that breathtaking speed without slowing at all, and to crash directly into the breach along Castor's chest muscles. And keep going into the far wall, even as the Gemini Twin _shattered_ with an agonized cry.

For several moments no one moved. The ricochet had finally stopped, and Kaus could not stand until Norn's magic found him and restored the strength to his muscles. "Too late", he told himself crossly.

It was as he had envisioned. Castor had been crushed, his legs still standing upright in the middle of the hall, and the fleshy human in this multiple-collision looked nearly as bad. Broken arms and ribs, a trail of dark fluid leaking from the man's mouth, whip fallen from slackened hands.

"Why?", the general could only ask. "You are a mercenary. Why risk yourself like this?"

Of all things, Lyon looked amused, though his eyes remained faint and fading fast through Norn's repeated healings, relaxing the grip on his whip. "Reputation, hoss. Reputation's everythin'. Gonna go out... gonna go out good. Like my old man. Tell Saradin... he's still a stuffy old coot. Heh heh he he..."

Norn chanted one last time, there was a gurgling sound and the man went completely still. Kaus stared, still not quite comprehending what he'd just witnessed.

"Roshian Temple", Norn gasped, running out from behind her cover to survey the dead in worry. "We can get him there, and then-"

"Too late", Kaus knew without having to think about it. "Even if either of our dragons lived to fly. He is gone." His musings were interrupted by a new sound, a shuffling from off in the distance. "And we are not done here yet."

He was correct, but only just. Pollux came limping out to meet them, his face a mirror of opposites.

"Brother", the Gemini twin panted. "Brother, where art thou? Where are you? Why can I not feel you? What has happened to you?! TELL ME!"

Kaus stepped back, and signaled Norn to do the same.

"Tell me", Pollux repeated, blank eyes wild and furtive. "Tell me! BROTHERRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrr..."

One last explosion, and greater than any in the rest of the battle. And Allamoot's already weakened structure could take no more- the walls creaked dangerously as the ceiling began to cave. By running, they were able to make it out just in time to see the fortress dissolve into a massive dust cloud that hung over the desert like an omen.

He could see the other rebel divisions from the small hilltop, see the way their opponents had broken and run. Lans and Warren's groups had pressed this far as well and engaged with a huge number of enemy divisions in the north end. But gradually, these dribbled away as well, leaving the stragglers to be cut down.

"As I thought", the general stated, searching for a topic other than the dead mercenary. "Two bodies, one soul. The original one Rashidi created must have been too powerful, and so he split it into two. Without one half, the other cannot exist."

"Good riddance to them", Norn said harshly. Still, she could not keep sorrow on her face for long, despite all that had happened. Considering the odds, their losses were minimal. He considered it a blessing that any of them were alive to see the new dawn.

And it was done. Figuratively and literally, Allamoot had fallen.

* * *

HARBOUR TOWN OF PLINSPORT

As befit a plan of such magnitude, it was a very long time before all the rebel divisions were able to gather themselves at the rendezvous point. As expected, the termites coupled with the heavy fighting at Allamoot to the northwest had left the place a crumbling ruin unsuitable for any kind of meeting, and so Destin Faroda waited there at the largest pub in the town with Deneb, Saradin, Rauny and the rest of his victorious group, to see which of their allies had survived and which had fallen.

Canopus was first to return, naturally. His fliers had detached early on to intercept any attempt to reinforce Allamoot, leading to a short, pitched battle with a clan of enemy ninja supplemented by doll mages and Titans. "No masters", the Wind Rider assured them curtly. "It must have been only the meanest of Prochon's men, a meagre offering to convince the Empire that he's trying to help them. Fifteen injured, no casualties."

"Well met", Destin clapped his arm to the bird man's shoulder, elated. "You may just be our greatest weapon against the Ninja order, even more than the Samurai who've rallied to us. Don't tell them that, of course."

He shrugged. "Two more factions of humans enacting an endless feud over a barren lifeless desert. It is none of my people's concern. Either of them."

"He means the terrain, I believe, Wind Rider", Saradin offered from his table where he'd convened with the other wizards, talking about the things they'd seen. "Crossing _that_ is going to be a problem for us if only our fliers and Samurai can handle it."

"One thing at a time", Destin assured him, refusing to let thoughts of the future diminish the now. "Our victory today is miracle enough."

Tyne's mermaids emerged from the sea hours later, nearly causing an incident when panicked pirates took up arms against them. "Our contribution is done", the Nixie proclaimed emotionlessly. "We shall depart."

"Good fortune to you", Destin bowed to her politely. "And our sincerest apologies. We never desired to fight your people."

"No", she agreed, her fins pulsing at her waist. Some of her people still looked angry, but they would not fight over it now that their path had been chosen. "No, you did not. Queen Porkyus chose this dark fate for us, as did Lady Eribeth after her. As much as we hate your predations, your horrifying disregard for the ecology of the sea and land, I can see that humanity is the inevitable future of this world. Your rate of breeding is simply too great for any other species to keep up. You are a plague. And so, we shall find a new home, one free of them or any other who might threaten us, and rebuild. Farewell, humans. We'll not meet again."

"Smartest fishwife I've ever met", Saradin commented sadly once she and her people were gone. "You _are_ aware they have more, aren't you?"

"Some", Destin confessed. Eribeth had led the bulk of the mermaids into their trap, but a few nomadic survivors in the Ryhan Sea to the north might yet flock to the Empire's banner when they heard what had happened to her and Porkyus. "Not enough to require our own force of mermaids and Krakens to deal with. Besides, she's done her part. All I want from now on is for them to be at peace with humans."

Looking uncomfortable with his dire memories of Kasolat, he gazed out across the archipelago's rough waters. "Surely, there must be somewhere out there in all the great oceans of the world that the merfolk can find sanctuary. Gods willing."

The largest group, the one led by Prince Tristan, Gilbert and Lans, was next to arrive. Sobered by losing half their people in the savage land battle that followed, but cheered immensely by Allamoot's fall, they embraced their comrades with open arms, with the only odd moment being when Lans refused to do that with his sworn brother.

Tristan, however, remained the fountain of optimism he'd been before his bloodiest battle yet, radiance only slightly dimmed by loss, or else cheered by his wife's survival to the exclusion of all else as they did far more than embrace.

"Everything worked, then?", the prince asked Destin cautiously. "The golem decoy, the frozen ships, the mermaid trap, the warping, the termites?"

"Thus far", Destin nodded. "Hikash destroyed the golem. We had to break off and engage him for a while to stop him from reaching Debonair's group, but when the termites appeared, he appeared to give up."

"The Supreme Overlord of the Imperial army", Tristan whispered in awe, "driven into retreat. Has that _ever_ happened before? Rauny?"

"In the past", his wife admitted earnestly. "But against factions of other rebellious Highlanders, not a Zenobian army. In any case, he only fled because he realized the fortress was lost no matter what he did. If he'd stayed and fought..."

"Bad times", Deneb admitted behind her, tipping the brim of her pink hat towards the one who had contributed the most to that fight, Rauny. "I gotta say, it's been lifetimes since I saw a human _that_ tough. What's that guy's secret, anyway? Nanomachines?"

As usual, no one bothered asking the strange pink witch what those were. "Training", Rauny provided simply. "Constant training in frozen climates. Training that would kill a lesser Highlander. Training that would kill _me_. Underneath that amour, his arms and legs are collections of calluses covering raw muscle."

"We'll get him", Destin promised, giving her a brief look of apology. "It will be difficult, but we _will_ defeat him. We just didn't have the manpower to do so today."

"I want to meet him", Tristan spoke up suddenly, surprising the others. "Once, before he is... beaten. I realize I shan't be any help when the time comes to actually fight him-"

"But you shall, my liege", Destin cut in, frowning. "Don't be ridiculous. You're as good a swordsman as any man here."

The prince looked more than ready to argue that point, but instead deflated, backing down into his seat and clasping his hands. "I wish to gain lord Hikash's approval, that is all. Our union ceremony was quite rushed. To put it mildly."

Many laughed at that, all of them veterans of the battle of Malano against Baron Apros' Zodiac Stone-enhanced physique. The prince, however, did not, and Rauny went to him to exchange whispers meant only for their ears. That seemed to be the signal for the majority of those not too injured to stand to resume drinking, and indeed most did.

Destin would not. Not until the last group, the divisions charged with destroying the final guardians of Allamoot, arrived with the early morning sun. Grim looking even for rebel Highlanders, most suffering from deep wounds, they pushed through the doors and were immediately rushed to the back of the building by Lans, Aisha and the other clerics.

Leaving Kaus Debonair standing before his new leaders, not sure what to say. "Allamoot is no more", he announced plainly. "The Empire's strongest bastion has fallen."

"You can drink to that", Saradin offered, raising his staff. "You Highlanders_ do_ drink, don't you?"

When even a slurred cacophony from Deneb failed to put a smile on the general's face, Destin began to become truly worried. Seeing his distress and unwilling to leave him to what terrors the imagination could conjure, Debonair briskly stepped forward and laid the black rawhide whip on the closest table.

The remaining rebel leaders all stared at it for a moment. Destin looked like the whip had called a great weight down upon his head, only to merge with him, never to leave. "Lyon."

"His dragons too. I could hardly believe it", Debonair said stiffly. "The enemies we faced there were nearly the equal of Gares or a Deva, yet he..."

"_Why_?", Destin sat up suddenly, looking around the cafe for someone with answers. "Why would he help you? Surely he knew there was no pay in it!"

Seeing his anger, Saradin sat up and heaved a great sigh. There were times he truly detested the Truthsayer's mantle. "You have asked lad, so I must answer you honestly. When the mercenary lord used the ritual with the bell of light to awaken me, I learned all his secrets. And knowing all his secrets, I know nearly all there is to know about him."

Destin and Debonair both looked shocked by this, possibly because neither had been there to witness the ritual that had freed the wizard of Balmorra from his stone prison. "Much of it you already know", Saradin went on solemnly. "Born in this very region of Allamoot. An arrogant fool, eternally boastful of his fighting prowess despite his true talents lying in taming beasts to do the fighting for him."

Taking the whip as if to keep it, Saradin began to examine the handle closely. "But the rest of his story, the one he was too proud to tell anyone, is this: he was the son of the pirate lord Mulmy."

"_Captain_ Mulmy", Debonair's gaze narrowed. "_Weal'hath_ wretch. He killed nearly one hundred Imperial citizens before we tracked him down and hung him."

"Lyon felt much the same way", Saradin agreed, continuing to work at the base of the whip with his fingernails. "He sought to leave his own mark through mercenary work. When the rebels arrived in Zenobia's capital in need of additional manpower, he saw his big chance to become part of a legend. To be known as the man who saved the rebellion."

"Hence why he was so mad at me before", Destin realized. "He certainly hid it well, asking for that kind of Goth."

"He wished to be known as a feared mercenary by his pirate brethren", Saradin pointed out. "Not a 'bleeding heart', as they would describe many of us who joined the rebellion for no cost. So he stayed clear of the pirate cities here during the battle- too many who would recognize him. I don't believe he ever knew that Captain Mulmy was executed."

"He was reckless", Debonair claimed, remembering all the times the man had insulted them. "Foolhardy and arrogant, and the son of pirate scum on top of that. But... he fought like a hero this night. If to be remembered as a feared mercenary is his one true desire, then it should be granted." He peered over at Destin, eyes curious. "That _is _possible, is it not?"

"Possible", Destin echoed. "One need only circulate the story in the right circles in the cities around here. I shall have to speak with Fubuki on it. He's now the seediest mercenary in our entire army. He shall know how to spread rumours so that they are heard by the lowliest of the pirate gangs."

"They shall become legend", Debonair said. Somehow, he knew what he'd said would become true. It was destiny. "Let every Godless pirate in this cesspit know the tale of Galnam Lyon, the mercenary who was worth 10,000 men."

There was a clicking noise as he finished that hung in the smoky air for seconds, drawing all eyes to Saradin. Holding up two halves of a wooden shell, the wizard removed from them a battered-looking scroll of paper. "Hidden inside the whip's handle. Sealed with wax.", he commented, putting it on the table and unrolling it.

All three studied it carefully, almost immediately recognizing the arrangement of islands that made up the archipelago they had just spent days fighting to control. One huge one in the southeast bordering the Komaya strait, countless others to the north among the reefs until the channel narrowed into the rivers leading north to Ryhan, and an endless desert on the western shore where they now sat. There were arrows and keys, strange writing by one who cared little for penmanship that anyone outside themselves could understand.

There was one legible piece though, a larger written font on the southwestern corner of the yellowed parchment. There, the aging ink read _Mulmy's Map._

* * *

BORDER FORTRESS MALANBA

There was no time to return to castle Xanadu. In fact general Cale Previa would no longer consider it out of the realm of possibility that he would never see his homeland in Zeteginea again.

His alarm mixed palpably with his anger as he stalked about their fallback position, a tiny palisade of wood and rock good for little more than gatherings of men and women in this region. He could not even stammer out a thanks to the group of dragon tamers who had led the rescue of his stranded troops, bringing them across the trackless Dahlmud desert to safety, and even the tropical paradise's sights could not calm him.

_Safety. _ He laughed only to himself. With Allamoot fallen, there was no longer such a thing as safety. The Empire's belly lay exposed. While it was true that only flying beasts, Ninja and Samurai could manage to cross the desert in anything approaching decent time, it was also supposed to be impossible to successfully lay siege to the oldest fortress in the lands of the south too, and the rebellion had already done that. The fortress had lain broken and desolate as his men had flown over it, formations of shattered stone waiting to be consumed by sandstorms until nothing remained. In time, no one would remember the ancient bastion had existed at all.

This place, by comparison to that great fortress, was like the equivalent of a mud-thatch hut. But it did possess a palisade gate, scrying circles and a stock of medicinal herbs, and that was what they needed now. Previa stepped forward without fear, using a pouch of power at his hip to activate the former.

Rashidi's face awaited him at the other end in Xanadu, whatever merriment that had once been on his face gone like a summer's breeze. "General. Lord Hikash has not yet reported in. What happened?"

"We fought", Previa snarled, too tired to go into details the sage had not requested. "They pulled some lame tricks, and we had to retreat. I don't know where master Hikash is."

"Lame. Tricks.", Rashidi enunciated carefully. "You tell me that the greatest fortress in the known world was taken by lame tricks. That my own creations, the Gemini Twins, whom I built long ago to serve as its protectors, were defeated by _**lame tricks**__._"

"I don't know where your damn creep twins got to, alright?", Previa sighed. "By the time we got off the ice, the whole fortress was a useless pile of rubble. There was no point in defending it further."

"Did you not prevent their wizards from reaching the walls? Did you not outnumber the rebels more than four to one?!"

"We_ did_. Like I said. They-"

"Lame tricks, yes yes, I _KNOW_. Not even Destin Faroda could have managed a victory in a straight battle there." The sage drew back slightly as if in deep thought. _"Kijinnst. If_ Allamoot fell, then my Gemini twins are dead with it. No matter- we must make preparations to defend Zeteginea."

"Where's the Empress?", Previa asked irritably. "I get that master Hikash isn't back from the battle yet, but-"

"Sleeping", Rashidi cut him off. "She has fallen ill and requested not to be disturbed. Until Hikash returns to us, I am in command here. We must act now."

He didn't like that at all, but there was no way to contradict the sage from here. _Hope master Hikash gets back soon. _"I have fifty-six survivors of my legion here with me. The rest were lost."

"Not enough", Rashidi claimed.

"Then we should return to the capital and prepare for-"

"No", the sage interrupted again. "You shall remain there and defend the Shulamana region. I have no faith in the High Shogun's ability to defeat them, and your people would only be a hindrance to them."

The adrenaline had now worn off enough that he could remember who he was speaking to, but even that could not keep scorn from his voice. "Honoured Sage. If they conquered Allamoot, my troops are not going to be able to stop them. I'm Deva, but they have slain Deva before."

"I believe you are correct, even if a desert might be the best place for the _Drei_-Deva", Rashidi said, leaning closer again so that his projected face filled the room. "But now is not the place for jokes. Desperate times, general. The time has come to make use of your friends."

The last word, so casually uttered, left Previa nearly as panicked as he'd been when they'd arrived here. He looked around in a whirl, making dead certain that no one had been lingering in the chamber to overhear them. Then, once he was certain they were alone, he himself leaned closer to the circle, trying to achieve the same effect on the sage's end. "I don't know _what _you're talking about, Rashidi. The only friends I have in Shulamana are the fifty-six people I have feasting downstairs."

But the Sage would not be dissuaded, smugness evident in his bearing as he played one particular card he'd clearly been holding onto for quite some time. He knew. He_ always _knew.

_If it takes a century of waiting, so help me I shall see you dead before me, Rashidi of Light._

"General, general, general. Surely coming from Allamoot you realize how unreliable _pirates_ are as allies? And they are even worse confidants. I know all about your little smuggling operation. I have for years. I merely had no reason to divulge it until now."

"You will not tell the Empress Endora about this", Previa ordered breathlessly, his ice blue eyes wide with desperation. "Or master Hikash. You will not tell _anyone_."

The sage remained jovial. "Of course not. Why would I? The Empire still needs your talents, general. And now, it needs your _friends_ to earn their living in Shulamana by helping us destroy the rebels when they arrive there."

"They might not", Previa suggested mildly, arms limp at his sides, clinging to the slim hope that he would not have to do as the Sage ordered. "Once they cross the desert, they can go straight to Xanadu if they wish, ignoring both Shulamana and Ryhan."

"Don't worry", the sage assured him smoothly. "Who is more clever than Rashidi? For I already have a plan to ensure that they _will _be visiting both of those regions. That's why I've stationed general Luvalon at the Ryhan Sea, along with the Cardinal Randals in the southern end in the sacred precint."

That made sense, at least. As did having Previa stationed here, where he could persuade his 'friends' to take up the fight. "Listen. I promised them that they would not be forced to serve the Empire. That they could live here without anyone bothering them. They will not listen to me-"

"You had best try to _make_ them listen", Rashidi said firmly. "If reasoning fails, it might be worth mentioning to them that the rebels are allied with the Roshians, the convent of Avalon. That ought to make them reconsider their neutrality."

"Not if YOU don't send them here!", Previa roared, unable to hold himself any longer. "They have nothing to do with us!"

"Alas, it is already too late for that general", Rashidi proclaimed without an ounce of regret. "If Hikash and Endora had known of this... well, they would have had you executed or exiled. But besides _that_, they would have long ago demanded that your friends be drafted against the rebellion. You are free to arrange your defences however you wish... but when Prochon fails and they figure out a way across the desert, Shulamana is yours to defend, general. No one will be coming to help you. So I suggest you make better use of your resources."

The image rippled, and Rashidi was gone from the circle. _Freya willing, I'll never see _him_ again either._

He stepped back, and nearly fell over. This was bad. So bad that he couldn't even make a joke about it, something his fellow Deva had sworn he would be doing even come the world's end. _Master_ _Hikash... Luvalon... what would you do?_

The obvious answer made the _Drei _Deva wince. They wouldn't be in this situation, of course. They would have simply followed their orders, slain everyone in Antalia without hesitation, and never consorted with the pirate scum of Allamoot to secretly move them into a far-off area where no one would think to look. Rashidi would have nothing to blackmail _them_ with.

_Blackmail... blackmail. Yes. Yes, of course. That just might work. _That had always been the key difference between him and his three colleagues and his master, something that Rashidi no doubt knew as well.

Kaus Debonair would never even think about smuggling people across the border, or using an underhanded tactic like blackmail to control others. Rowdain Figaro might have if he'd had the brains to figure out how without killing the people involved whenever he got bored with them. Tanaburs Luvalon would only ever do so if ordered to by a superior, and Hikash Vinzalf would never order any of his Deva to do such a supposedly 'dishonourable' thing.

But _him_... Cale Previa was different from all of the other Deva. He always had been, both in speech and action. Born of Allamoot, thankfully not raised there but brought up as a paladin. In truth, he was much closer to Rashidi's way of solving problems, using every available option to get things done, and damn the consequences. All he had to do was be himself. It was better than being cut down like the others anyway.

"Get everyone ready", he called to a stocky Raven clanner as he left the chamber. "We march for Fort Shulamana in the early evening."

The bird man, a division leader, looked understandably confused. "Evening? You don't think we can go now? We're not _that_ banged up, sir."

"No", Previa noted, feeling the old trademark grin creeping back onto his face. He knew how unsettling most people found it. _ Just be yourself. Laugh. Make your jokes. Get everyone riled up and uncomfortable and agitated. That's the only prayer you have of surviving the next battle. _"Y'see, if we leave here at night we won't arrive at the fortress until the dawn of the next day. And I need it to be daytime then... You'll understand when we get there, promise."

The mercenary looked no less puzzled, but glided off to deliver the news to the others.

And Cale Previa was still smiling his old smile, a new life pulsing through his veins, the pulse of opportunity. If he could convince his 'friends' to help, if the enemy truly did come, if the trick he had in mind worked...

Then, perhaps, the last laugh would be on the rebels after all.

* * *

UNKNOWN

Dressed in the autumn orange gown he had bought her for their second anniversary, Laura Hamilton stood before her husband in what looked to be one of Zenobia's less-used streets. It was night. Laura looked suspended between sorrow and pride, speaking in that honeyed voice only older women could truly manage without sounding arrogant.

"I forgive you", she whispered.

Blood began to pour from the slash wound in her neck.

Lans Hamilton knew what he was seeing and hearing was impossible. Everything since the battle of Kastro was impossible. Yushis had told him the truth and given logical explanations for everything, but still it was impossible.

"The dead cannot return", she pointed out, echoing his own thoughts. "And Necromancy doesn't count. Wait around here long enough, and Bors will be along. That mercenary might even show up. I don't think he likes you very much though."

The knight shrugged as if it were self-explanatory. For her, it was. "He was a mercenary and a pirate. You say you two have come to speak with me?"

Laura shook her head sadly, paying the wound no mind as it seeped out to cover her from the neck downwards. "No. You have come to us. Your mind has already tasted oblivion. It's slipping back there."

He nodded, understanding and fearful of it. "This is a warning."

"You have never cheated before", she said with a wink acknowledging not only his faith in his king, but to her. "You cannot keep playing both sides of mortality, husband. Time's running out. You must act."

"Dare I imagine what fate awaits me if I should say nay?", he asked aloud. Normally he would have been more reserved, but this was inside his own mind where only he and Laura would hear.

The blood had covered Laura from head to toe now, making her frightened eyes look like two glimmering stars against a red sky all sailors would flee from. "Not just you. All who depend on you will suffer. And only you will know why."

"I cannot", he said firmly. "Not yet. He is required to destroy the Empire."

"He stepped down. He no longer controls the army. The balance of power has shifted. Why is he still needed?"

Lans spread his arms in surrender. He knew when he'd been caught in a lie. "Sir Destin is my sworn brother. To slay him would be a betrayal of our friendship."

"To not slay him would be a betrayal of the one who arranged this brief reprieve from the rules of mortality", Laura replied simply. "You have seen him, husband. He desires it. He knows the power such as he holds was not meant for mortal hands, that it was only given to him so that a far greater catastrophe could be averted, and now it has."

"Not yet", he repeated, hoping this was merely a product of his own mind. "Not while the Empire that killed you exists."

"The Empire that killed me", Laura replied, "is gone. Their power is broken. You have seen for yourself what your sworn brother will become in its place."

"No longer", he answered stiffly. His Tarot-granted vision had been worse than the Empire, that was true, but he had thought the possibility buried. "Sir Destin has learned his lesson on the dangers of power."

"Just Destin, husband. You can call him what he is in this place. Just Destin Faroda. A boy blessed with the power to see into the hearts of others and change their destinies. Even yours."

Lans put a hand to his face, found it covered in the opalescent white visor of his armour. He'd had enough. "You", he hissed angrily, "are not my Laura. She would never advocate the slaying of a friend. You are an illusion."

"No", Laura shook her head. "I'm you. Just you. That is the price. That is why you were sent back to the mortal world. Your task is not yet done. You must slay Destin Faroda, before the darkness claims him, and restore balance. This is your warning, Lancelot Hamilton of Zenobia. Your final warning."

His response felt reflexive, automatic. But somehow he knew he would wake up before he could finish saying it.

"Don't call me Lanc-"

Blink.

"-elot."

Alone again. Alone against the impossible decision, the pains that had plagued him at the last battle an everlasting reminder. The decision that would have to be made soon.

"Gran's bones", he whispered tearfully so as not to wake anyone else. "What am I to do?"

* * *

A/N: Pretty much the same story as I gave in my recent update to my Bleach story, Spirit Eater: I lost interest in this for quite a while, always promising myself I'd finish it but never finding the time. Also the average length of chapters make it more difficult.

But there is a bit more to it than that. I'll also admit I was originally planning to have a lot more stuff on my OCs, but it kept dragging down the main plot and I feel like I've departed quite a lot from the source material as is. So from here on in, most of this story will focus on the game characters, reestablishing their backgrounds and developments after this long hiatus, so as not to drag on for years more before the ending. Maybe I can make some side stories for them later or something, depending on whether people still read this or what. We'll see.


	27. The Sacred Stones

**The Zodiac Stones**

* * *

"_Destin Faroda... How do I begin to explain Destin Faroda? In my eyes he's flawless. I hear his hair is insured for 10,000 Goth. I hear he does commercial endorsements for swords... In Gargastan. His favourite food is rasberry-bran muffins... that I make. One time I met him and told him he was pretty and he just smiled. One time Lansy-pants punched him in the face... It was **awesome**."_

-Deneb Rhodes

* * *

_Sunlight shone upon the new kingdom of Zenobia for the first time. With it came the easing of a great burden that made Destin Faroda rise out of instinct, resulting in him looking directly into the bright, shining face of Prince Tristan, though he looked a few years older than Destin remembered._

_No. King Tristan now. That would take some getting used to, although knowing the former prince, he wouldn't mind. "Thank you", the new king of Zenobia said, rising himself and emphatically shaking Destin's gloved hand. "Thanks to your efforts, the Empire has been completely destroyed."_

"_It was my pleasure, your majesty." The words felt strange on his tongue It was as though they were coming to him without being bidden. They continued that way, but he could not even twitch to show his displeasure, and they were close enough to how he truly felt. "Our efforts up until now have not gone unnoticed, of course."_

"_Of course", the king echoed, face changing to a more serious tone as he returned to his seat. "You've already heard no doubt, about the Holy Lodis Empire in the lands of the far north. According to Warren, they're already making their invasion plans. I'm very worried."_

"_Understandable", Destin, or rather whatever was putting words into his mouth, agreed. "Our show of force was unprecedented. They have every right to fear us, even if we had no desire to attack them."_

_The king blinked. "Do you not mean 'have'? I'd rather not embroil the kingdom in another war so soon, particularly against an enemy with even more resources than Zeteginea had."_

"_They chose war", Destin felt himself replying. "Not us. War is a good thing to avoid, but once inevitable it cannot be fought halfheartedly. I learned that lesson myself in the last conflict. Lest we not forget, many of Lodis' territories are held in the same subservient condition Zenobia was once, if not even worse. Can we justify **not**_ _acting to liberate them from their oppressors? Why should we be free, and not them?"_

"_Yes", the king agreed slowly, comprehending. "The time will eventually come when we will need to fight them. That is why I must ask you to become the general of my armies. To lead as you did during the first half of the Zenobian rebellion. Do you accept?"_

_**No. **_

_**By the Gods I beg you. No more violence. No more death. No no no no-**_

"_Your wish is my command, my king."_

"_I'm glad to hear that. With your strength, I can rest assured. We will someday be able to create a world without war."_

_The brief scowl was Destin's alone, and only his to notice. Only **he** felt it briefly blossom on the impostor's face, and only for a split second. Then the mask was up again, back to that of the loyal servant who only desired peace for their people..._

"_By our hands, we shall bring everlasting peace to the world."_

Destin screamed, and the new kingdom of Zenobia was gone. He was in his cot, listening to the angry rebuke of the paladin he'd just woken up. "Sorry", he muttered, weakly pulling on his armour- Deneb would be a few hours in bed yet, unable to help him as she had the last time he'd had a nightmare this vivid.

_What in the Twenty-Two is going on?_

No answers came to him as he was guided into the meeting room, formerly known as the town library. Only the leaders were required to attend, and many had skipped out after last night, but he had no doubt his words would be taken to them by others seated at the long wooden table now.

"Allamoot is gone", he began with a nod to Tristan at the head of the table, still too groggy to do much other than state the obvious. "The very heart of the enemy's lands now lie open to us. While it would have been useful to have the fort as a staging area for this campaign, I'm sure we can find other cities willing to supply us."

"You're certain?", Debonair asked. "Forgive my forwardness gentlemen, but it _is_ an issue that has been pressing on my mind. If we are to continue our way into Zeteginean lands, we must consider that the majority of the people there shall be favourable to the Empire, not to us. They may refuse to support us."

"They can be forced", Lans pointed out from across the table. "'Tis but a fraction of what the Empire did to Zenobia, and for a worthy cause."

"_No_", Tristan ordered, his hands crashing down on the table, unusually steely on this issue. Iseult opened his eyes wide beneath his cowl as if daring anyone to dispute him. "Lancelot, we're not stealing supplies from people who aren't willing to part with them. Particularly after the bad harvest they had this year."

"Forgive me, my liege... and don't call me Lancelot."

"In fact", the prince said with just a touch of impatience, "I have already dispatched the proper intermediaries to the Highlands to begin peace talks."

Everyone at the table froze, not quite believing what they'd heard. Warren actually stood up and left the table, slamming the door behind him without a word.

"Begging your pardon, my prince...", Gilbert, the first to recover, said. "But we established long ago that neither one of the Empire's current leaders are rational. Neither Sage Rashidi nor Empress Endora will agree to a ceasefire unless they merely required the time to build up their armies for a renewed attack on us. If you haven't just gotten some of our runners killed, I fear they shall return with ill news."

Tristan seemed surprised by the hostility he sensed from the majority of those around the table who had not long ago sworn oaths to serve him, to the point where his bodyguard, the hooded Iseult, actually tensed up, ready to defend him with spell and blade. Debonair and Rauny both nodded to him sympathetically. "He is fairly new to this", Norn Dias offered them with a faint smile when Rauny looked at her 'translator' imploringly, knowing without asking what the Overlord's daughter wished to say. "Though he knows perfectly well the evil deeds our people perpetrated during the occupation of Zenobia, it is his nature to always seek solutions with a minimum of blood, no matter how unlikely."

"For now we can only pray that the messengers return alive", Kaus said. "I am sorry prince, but Rauny and I are both of Zeteginean blood, and our people have always been rightly proud of our strength in battle, for it was warfare which first forged scattered tribes of northmen into a true country. For us to admit defeat is unlikely even were the Empress Endora fully sane."

Everyone who had been so alarmed relaxed in their seats now, convinced they had heard the last of that idea.

"In any case, the _Daimyo_ of the Samurai order assures me that supplies won't be a problem in Dahlmud desert", Destin continued. "They claim that the majority of the people there support the Samurai even though they have to feign loyalty to the Ninja Master who killed King Ofays. Sketchy rumours about the High Shogun Prochon's legitimacy abound, and they hate the Empire even more. What of their meagre supplies they can share with us, they shall."

"It is always the way", Gilbert Oblion remarked distastefully, glancing out the window as if he could see the desert sands from here. "The oppressed will always rise up, and the harder they are stomped down, the harder the people fight back. Thus tyranny always betrays itself in the end. That is what you taught me."

"Exactly Gilbert. _Here's _the downside." Destin's face became grave. "Dahlmud desert is a vast, vast place, even bigger than Allamoot or Malano. It's potentially even more dangerous than the snowfields of Kalbi. Constant sandstorms create poor visibility even in the daytime, and Prochon stays mobile enough that no one really knows for sure which city he's holed up in. His master ninjas, however, have mastered being able to move quickly through the sands to ambush enemies. They _know_ the desert off by heart, while most of us have never even seen one until yesterday evening. While our fliers can move in fairly good time, the rest of us will be slowed down to a crawl, and before anyone asks, _no_, we don't have enough flying beasts to carry everyone across. Not even half." He shook his head in dismay.

"What about the Sky Islands?", Saradin asked. "We might simply bypass Dahlmud altogether using one of those."

"Yes, but we would lose the support of both the angels and the Samurai", Destin pointed out. "They've made it very clear that the only reason any of them except Fubuki are with us is for the day they see Prochon killed. And the angels have told us many times that they don't want their homes made into vehicles of war for any reason."

"This is sounding like Kasolat all over again", Valerin Ashe grumbled from towards the rear of the room. The former Zenobian captain of the guard seemed to have mastered the deathly cough he'd exhibited after the battle of Shangrila, but that only made Destin more worried. "An entire damned region of terrain that most of us can't cross."

"Yes, and in this case we can't even hire ships to cross the sand." Folding his arms, he regarded each of the division leaders in turn. "I've already requested a solution from the_ Daimyo_ of the Samurai order. They're willing to teach us the techniques for moving quickly across desert terrain, but they maintain it shall be a slow process, perhaps weeks to teach enough of us even if those taught pass along their knowledge."

The chorus of groans was only to be expected, but Tristan waved it down graciously. "That may be for the best, my friend. Whether my plan succeeds or not, we need the time to rebuild and recover after Allamoot."

"The Empire is recovering its strength as well", Ashe pointed out despondently. "They're on the back foot right now. Those weeks give the bastards time to prepare more defences, more tricks to spring on us after we crush Prochon."

"It can't be helped", Destin said. "You are welcome to try it yourself if you like captain- you'll see just how much that sand slows you down when you're wearing heavy armour. At any rate, we actually now have more lands providing us with tributed Goth than the Empire does. Zenobia, Malano, Kasolat, even a few isolated towns in Antalia... In a month's delay, we should gain even more resources than they do."

"A good point", Tristan acknowledged. "I feel this is also a good time to liberate any cities that we missed in our first visits to each kingdom. Even if each one's individual contribution is small, they can add up to a considerable sum. I wish leaders Lans, Gilbert, Saradin and Destin to lead teams of their choosing to the liberated lands, and find anyone we missed before. We shall hold the line here in case Prochon or Rashidi attempts an attack."

_And make use of Mulmy's treasure map_, Destin thought to himself. _Well done indeed, prince. _The map they had found hidden within the whip handle of the late Galnam Lyon was not specific about what exactly it led to, but even if it was merely money that was just one more source of funds for the growing rebel war machine. When the mercenary supply ran out, it could still be spent on more provisions, rare magical items, better weapons, equipment and armour.

Destin himself still had yet to find a sword good enough to replace the _Kalanbolg_ he'd lost in the battle of Shangrila, but trying out the various enchanted ones they'd found in their journeys had proven fruitful enough to keep trying. In any case, he was no longer the type of person who would demand that a special sword be made just for him.

"A sound plan", he said, standing and stretching. "With your permission I will bring Deneb and Ashe's divisions along with me."

"I shall take miss Aisha's clerics along for the journey", Lans offered.

"The Moon Sage, that's all that I ask", Saradin requested, staring out the window as if he'd seen Warren stalking by. "I'd also like to make a stopover in the land of Balmorra to build some more golems. And to reaffirm to my people that I'm not yet dead."

"Lyon's beasts", Gilbert stated humbly. "Without their master's scent, their conditioning may be slipping. I shall try to retrain them as best I can on our travels."

"Granted, all of you", Tristan replied, nodding towards Ashe and Iseult just as quickly. "I shall request then that the Wind Rider lead his people on scouting runs around the desert if possible, and learn the extent of the enemy's preparations in the regions of Shulamana, Ryhan, and most importantly Xanadu."

Which left Debonair, Rauny, Slust and Norn's divisions here to hold Allamoot. Not what Destin would have done, but he would not quibble over such a minor issue with the one he had sworn an oath to serve.

The oath was not what troubled him now, or even any of prince Tristan's decisions. Even the nightmares seemed a far-off memory when everyone stood up and he chose to remain behind a moment longer than necessary.

Tristan was still there, seated in his chair. The look on his face was one of self-loathing, a gathering storm that threatened to tear him apart from within.

Destin knew this look well. He had seen it on his own face every day, until the day of Albeleo's death.

* * *

PRISON CITY BY'ROIT

That look was still on his mind weeks later, when his chosen group of allies and their divisions returned to the liberated kingdom of Zenobia.

Of all things, he had not expected the quiet. Outside the capital city, where the rebuilding crews had stopped their busy work schedule on the walls to welcome them with open arms, few made a fuss. He was at one point stunned to see one frightened child actually _running _as they approached, and quickly throwing a door closed behind them.

_I had thought the worst of my non-battle troubles over when I returned from Antanjyl a new person. But apparently the Roshian Order has done it's work very well indeed. _The exact details of his return had not been leaked of course. Doubtless everyone, himself included, preferred it that way. Lans would continue to be hailed by the church as the rebellion's true hero who had taken up the mantle when the 'chaos bringer' fell to darkness.

That was the official story they had spread, and now they had to stick by it. Rumours of Destin Faroda's return could be dismissed easily enough, and the return of Prince Tristan was far more agreeable news to focus on. Lans would not laugh at the situation, but Destin and Deneb would, and Ashe joined them.

"I have been disgraced by far greater forces than the Order of Roshian", the old captain explained with a self-satisfied grin when they stared back in surprise. "I learned long ago that the shining reputation one spends a lifetime building can be shattered in a single moment by men with the proper resources and planning. The only way to endure is to hold onto what created that reputation, and to not be shamed by the gen'ral mock of men."

Lans had told him the full story long ago, but for the first time Destin realized the full implications of what the old knight said. "Warren claims reputation is the one immortal part of the self. You have no desire to see the truth come out?"

"Oh, but I do", Ashe sniffed. "But t'would be extremely difficult, and still potentially damaging to our cause to bring the full tale to light at the moment. So let them have their little scapegoat- all the people who matter to me already know the truth. Speaking of... have you seen Banya?"

The prince's old nursemaid, and also the headstrong woman who had kept faith with Ashe when he had none in himself, was indeed looking well when they found her at the now-exposed gulag, By'Roit, outside the limits of the capital, continuing with the task of providing food and encouragement to those whom she felt did not deserve to be locked up behind those walls in the first place. Eager for news from beyond Zenobia's borders, she listened closely as Ashe and Destin took turns explaining all that had happened.

"He lives", she raised her head to the sky, crinkled eyes closed in elation when the tale arrived at Prince Tristan. "_Hallelujah_. Bless the Twenty-Two, he lives after all this time. That is all I could ever ask for. That, and that he grow and live a good life."

"He is well", Destin elaborated. "He's taken command of the rebel army now."

Bayna looked confused at that. "Why? I doubt years of thievery in Malano provided him with as much experience in bloodshed as you, master Faroda."

The uneasiness was palpable. Desitn looked around the scant shack she'd chosen to visit when they'd come in, but there was only himself, Ashe, the nursemaid and a white-haired convict he was fairly sure wouldn't understand anything they were saying- Imperial torture had driven that man to madness long before the rebellion began. Banya had been messily feeding him gruel and speaking to him, trying to get him to understand words again. No one else would hear him confess to the things they'd glossed over in their report so far.

"I fell, Banya", he said simply, arms spread wide open. "With my power, I knew everyone's secrets and sought to use that to control them. The corruption continued, tainting my mind until I accidentally killed one of my own people, and though I've returned to aid the rebels, I dare not assume command again. The temptation could prove too great."

"I see". The maid's eyes narrowed. The very thing she had warned him against when they'd first met. "Well, I am glad to see you realized what was happening before it was too late. Do remember, however, that a truly evil man would never have earned the Herostar from Zenobia's faithful, nor the Key of Destiny or that sacred Brunhild sword you spoke of."

"It's not like that", he maintained, shrugging. "I simply forgot that anyone other than myself had a working brain."

"Like Rashidi Light, Gares, and countless other 'great men' before them", Ashe countered, making it clear which side he was on. "Self-absorption, the downfall of a thousand geniuses. But you _remembered_, in the end. You came back to us, repenting all your prior abuses of command. That's more than most people in your position can say, lad."

"True", he acknowledged wearily. Deep down he figured talking about it in the open like this would help, but right now it was like poking an open scar. "But even if Tristan's leadership leads to more of our people dying than mine would, I dare not gamble with the sacrifices of so many. Many among us would prefer to merely die in service to their country than be used like that."

"Something I am sure the remaining Deva feel about now", the captain offered, chuckling. "With the Empress fallen ill, I hear tell that Rashidi's taken command in Zeteginea. But he's a schemer, not a tactician. They must be chafing under him already." He began to laugh openly, but that laugh turned into the deathly cough's return and he fell over, only Banya's quick reaction saving him from slamming into the wooden floor.

"A minor wound, my dear", he tried to grit out, held in her arms. "Nothing I cannot handle, nothing worse than what I suffered in service to the throne of Gran Zenobia."

"That was a long time ago", Banya wept, her hood sliding forward over her head, which seemed to shrink back. "You fool. You damn fool."

"I meant it when I said I was done keeping secrets from our people", Destin added gently. "I cannot lie about your ability to march and fight, especially since the Dahlmud desert is our next destination."

The words, as harshly truthful as Ashe and Banya's own words to Destin, seemed to put him into lethargy, merely lying still for several seconds before his eyes snapped open once more. "...I know. I know. I would have stayed with you until the very last battle against the Empire and beyond... but it would seem the Twenty-Two have other plans for me."

Hearing the admission, he relented slightly, stepping back. His recent debates with Warren Moon had taught him the value of _choice_. "Will you lead still?"

Ashe shook his head. "No. To lead from the rear is not the Zenobian way. Lancelot can lead my division. They respect him far more anyway, and he has Paladin abilities to go with that fancy white armour. Every leader should be able to heal their people and save them from death, don't you agree lad?"

The rebel leader pulled his helmet down, his gaze following. "Not every leader can. I've mastered several spells, but Aisha maintains I'm hopeless when it comes to learning holy magic. Divine weapon, remember?"

Ashe erupted into the worst coughing fit yet, and Banya helped over to a chair, her face a silent plea for him not to try and say anything more. He ignored it. "...No. You are not. Only you can decide. And if Warren Moon ever tries to convince you otherwise, I'll kill him myself."

"No more killing today", Banya said forcefully. "I believe you had other matters to attend to?"

"Yes", Destin acknowledged, slowly backing up. "He won't stay here, will he?"

"He's spent too much of his life wrongly imprisoned here", she agreed, eyes never leaving Ashe's increasingly glassy gaze. "I shall move him to the capital tomorrow, there's Roshian priests there who can take better care of him than I."

It was something Destin Faroda never experienced before, and he did not like it at all. Every time before when an old person had died or been near death, they had been his enemy and he had not regretted their passing.

This was a new ordeal. It made him want to run and shout for help from the Gods, even if no such help could be found. Even with all that had passed between them of late, if he'd seen Warren Moon in this state he already knew he'd be reduced to a blubbering infant, begging the Sage not to take the Thirteenth's hand just yet.

A formal bow was the best he could think of, making sure Ashe could see his happy smile on the way down. "Sleep well, old soldier."

* * *

CAPITAL OF ZENOBIA

"Tower card", Saradin Carm observed almost quizzically, trying to settle into Warren Moon's private chambers with mixed results. "Isolation. Ostracism. Risk, and reward or punishment on failure."

"Right on all counts", Warren replied. "I've always felt that one applies to every leader the world has ever seen, but it's still a promising sign if you believe in your own quality as ruler. Next?"

Taking a moment to rearrange the deck, the sage revealed a new card. Upside down. "Reversed Moon card", Saradin identified it. "Release of fear. Unhappiness. Confusion."

"Right again", his accomplice said dryly. "You're better at this than Destin, thought that's hardly a monumental feat."

"And there you are again", the younger wizard cut in, perhaps not as respectful of Warren as most Zenobians would be. "Forgive me, but it is my nature as Truthsayer to speak my mind when prudent."

"Suddenly you make me want to be one", the sage joked. "Not that I'd last for even an hour without lying. What?"

"Destin. None can deny he's done incredible things in only a year's time, defeated legendary warriors, demons and more, yet you still belittle and insult him as though were is a mere child. Why?"

"You _would_ be the nagging voice of compassion, Truthsayer", Warren grumbled irritably, retrieving the Moon card and reshuffling his deck. They'd had several sessions like this in the late nights, alternately probing the Tarot for signs of Saradin's fate while also experimenting with various esoteric magics for sign of some hidden curse of Rashidi's which he might have placed upon his student. Only now did he feel comfortable enough to ask such a question, even if he was more skilled than the old sage. _In every branch save for Tarot readings, that is. _Not even his master had bothered learning that seemingly useless art.

"You know his history, of course", Warren spoke after a wait. "Therefore, you are aware he is considerably less mature than his thirty year old body might otherwise suggest. More malleable to new ideas, you could say."

"He was tortured horribly for years", Saradin offered roughly, trying not to sound accusing of the sage. "Then forcibly stripped of those memories by you, to regain them only recently during the battle at Avalon."

"Yes. He has learned much, but in spirit he remains a child. Destiny's Child." He chuckled, remembering the old title with which he had introduced his disciple to the gathered rebels. So quaint, and soon overshadowed by other titles he'd earned, both the good and bad. His face became serious again. "I knew from the start that Zenobians the world over would praise him if he succeeded, if he changed the tide from subservience to hope. I elected to remain as his measuring stick, someone to deflate him whenever his head got too big from all the praise."

Saradin felt a familiar _ping_ in his head, and sighed. "At least half of that was falsehood, I'm afraid. I think you're making excuses to justify yourself after the fact. Or, is this simply your way? Small wonder the sages fell out of popularity with King Gran with attitudes such as this. Small wonder that Rashidi went mad."

He wasn't surprised when a look of cold fury came over the other man's face. He'd felt the same way the first time someone suggested that _he_ was nothing but a pawn of his old master, like Albeleo and Kapella. "Do not speak to me of that name. He is the one who _destroyed_ our council, the council who opposed his methods to return the Gods to the world."

"My apologies, friend", Saradin waved his staff hand in contrition. "I just hope you're aware of the consequences of this approach."

"No wife, no children, no _friends_", the Moon sage rattled off simply, brushing off his dusty brown robes as though the Truthsayer had contaminated them, his meaning clear. "The life of a Sage is demanding. It is all-consuming. It requires one to eliminate all frivolous distractions and devote one's life entirely to the power of the true Gods and their restoration. Particularly in this era, when the ley lines of magic are so terribly faint even here in Zenobia. Mayhap there was a time when one could do those things and still be a powerful sorcerer... but that has not been true for many an age."

His voice dropped, and he sounded somewhere in-between panic and sorrow. "The old magic is so weak now, barely a whisper. For that, I blame society."

Saradin blinked. The man had gone from harsh reprimand to sarcastic self-depreciation so fast he wasn't quite sure if that last bit was really a joke or not. "My point still stands. How could you expect to change the world for the better when you despise the ordinary people who live in it so?"

"Infuriating as ever. I thought you wanted my _help_, not to cast your aspersions upon my religion, Truthsayer."

"I am trying to help _y-_", the younger wizard began, then stopped himself just in time. "No, that's wrong. I am trying to help _Destin_ in any way I can. Gods know he still needs it. You must know how much your insults hurt him inside."

"They used to", Warren shrugged. "But he's grown up some since then, and for _that_ I am glad. Anyone who cannot handle a few insults will not survive long in the real world. Force of habit, I suppose."

Again the _ping_ sounded, and Saradin folded his aqua blue sleeves in exasperation. _Like trying to wring blood from a stone. A stone that ridicules you every time you fail. _"...Very well. I suppose you must retain some secrets from me, in case I truly_ am_ a dupe of that sage Who Must Not Be Named after all. Or do you even care about that?"

Warren made a rude noise. "Of course I do, imbecile. Why else would I allow you to come into _my_ tower, eat _my_ food, fool around with _my_ Tarot deck?" Stuffing the aforementioned deck into his pouch, the sage brought forth a set of herbs to burn in the metal dish at the center of the table.

"Now if you don't mind not worrying your head off about that silly boy for just a few seconds, I'd like to try checking it for dream curses tonight..."

* * *

MAGICIAN'S TOWN OF PARA

Summoning up every ounce of focus, Lans Hamilton forced his hand away from the hilt of his blade. "Guildus, Mildain, get her down from there NOW!"

The people of this town were angry, but not stupid; no one tried to stop the two paladins as they ran up to the backwards-leaning stake and Mildain drew his blade to cut Deneb free from the ropes which bound her.

He could not tell what had shocked him more. The sight of Deneb the witch in a town they had only travelled here to liberate as per the prince's directive, or how calm she'd been in the face of a mob with torches who had obviously heard a great deal about her from their neighbours in Valparin Peaks to the south.

Released from her bonds, she merely stretched her arms contently. "Thanks, Lancy. That was getting a bit boring, what with that old Roshian guy trying to get me to 'repent my sins'. Whatever_ that_ means."

Summoning up every ounce of focus once again, he forced his mailed hand down. "They were going to_ burn_ you, my lady. You are still considered a base villain in this country, surely you know that!"

She shrugged as if it were no consequence. "Sorry. I was getting bored with Destin's talking with everyone in the capital. Even he gets boring sometimes. Thought I'd go visit the old stomping grounds and_ this_ happened."

His frustration and trampled dignity came out in an unrecognizable grunt, and he motioned for the twin paladins to take down the stake and scatter the kindling. "Sir Destin would never forgive us if something were to happen to you", he told her. "Worse, he would never forgive the people directly responsible."

"I can take care of myself", she insisted, arms folded. "I have for over 500 years. Longer than you can imagine... although you might be able to in good time, Lansy."

The witch seemed always able to throw him for a loop, and today was no exception. He stepped several paces back towards a Roshian temple, and she followed after. "You know?", he asked hoarsely. "You know of my...?"

"Your death", Deneb finished for him, looking insufferably amused. "Yeah I do. It's not the first time something like this happened to a warrior. You should be honoured, Lansy!"

Her strange friendliness could not dismiss the dread he felt on that subject so easily, but he nodded regardless. _The time has come to restore balance._ "I... I suppose I am. Yushis told me, and I scarcely believed it. I have failed so many times, why would the Gods choose me as their instrument?"

"I dunno", she winked and laughed. "Maybe because you never gave up. Everyone in Zenobia was ready to just roll over and let the Empire have its way, except for you. For twenty-four years you kept on trying to get Zenobia to rise up until people started banning you from taverns. Not a huge amount of time in the grand scheme, but pretty impressive for a mortal human."

For the first time what felt like forever, he did as she wanted, leaned back and allowed himself to glory in that accomplishment. "Were it not for them, I might have given up. T'was not an easy task, nor was avoiding Imperial patrols devoutly seeking the bounty upon me."

"Oooh, how much?"

He raised an eyebrow. "50,000 Goth, dead or alive."

Deneb made a rude noise. "Cheapskates. They put way more than that on Destin. 200,000, last time I checked."

"A most well-deserved sum", Lans remarked proudly. It spoke volumes of their success, nearly as much as the crumbling ruin the fortress of Allamoot had been turned into. "But over the years everyone became accustomed to my words. Never could I inflame their hearts as sir Destin and Warren Moon have, nor win such a string of battles as sir Destin did against the various Imperial governors and their armies. And when I tried to return to my former role as leader..."

"You lost", she guessed calmly. "It happens, and the way I hear it you took down Albeleo's army of golems. That's something."

He nodded back weakly. Though victorious, those were bad memories, and now he understood why. "He... is me", he said, pleased to have puzzled the witch for once instead of the other way around. "Me, as I once was twenty-five years prior. A bright young warrior, full of hope and vigour, eager to make the world a better place with my sword and my will. That is why, against all reason, his survival and virtue has become the one thing in this world more important to me than a rebel victory."

As expected, she spent a while taking that admission in, supernaturally beautiful eyes widened in curiosity. "Mm-hmm. Glad he's not hearing this. And no offence, but here's hoping he's not an old fart like you twenty years down the line."

_The time has come to restore balance. _He willed the thought out of his head, trying to focus on the present time. "I doubt he shall be, my lady."

The visions persisted, the nightmare Warren's tarot had brought all over again. He could not bear to dwell upon them, lest he give away too much. Instead, only for a moment, he pushed all other facts from his mind and pictured a sunlit, grassy hill somewhere in Zenobia, the land of the Gods.

Someday upon that hill they would gather. Destin, himself, Deneb, Ashe, Gilbert, Tristan and the rest of the Zenobian heroes. None would wear their armour or weapons. They would merely meet, and eat, and talk as lifelong friends should be able to. And Destin would give him one pure, unforced smile free of irony or grimness, and he would return the favour.

"Pardon me a moment", a new voice interrupted his trance, and he turned. Behind them stood a pale-skinned man with a white beard, sparse but long hair and silver robes. "I had heard tell that captain Lancelot Hamilton is in this town. Are you he?"

He nearly laughed. He wasn't sure himself any more. When first he had met this man on his travels, he had been a different person entirely. He nodded back. "I am he. And the promise has been fulfilled."

The robed man looked pleased, clapped his hands together. "Very good. I had heard all sorts of rumours, and of course Kapella's absence was an obvious sign, but I did not live this long by taking foolish risks. Sage Rashidi lives?"

"Rashidi lives", Lans repeated less pridefully. "But not for long."

"Psst! Lansy!", Deneb whispered in his ear beside him. "You forgot to tell him not to call you Lancelot! Are you sick or something?"

Again he smiled, glad to have some secrets from the witch even if they had mended their differences. "Never better."

"He would not so casually correct a Sage, dear lady", the silver-robed man said graciously. "We were once the advisory council of King Gran, after all. Rashidi of Light no longer qualifies of course. Which leaves only myself, Boltrano of Darkness."

"And Warren Moon", Lans pointed out.

"Ah. He lives as well, does he?" Boltrano seemed surprised by that. "But now is not the time for our reunion- surely he must be furious with me, and rightly so. At any rate, the promise is fulfilled. Zenobia is freed from the Empire's rule after twenty-five years, and this man tells me their ability to launch a second invasion has been crippled, is that correct?"

Lans merely gestured to the far west horizon, seeing only the edge of the Kastolation sea. "They have been pushed to Fort Allamoot, honoured sage. And that great and mighty fortress was thus levelled, driving the enemy to their own homelands. In mere months, the desert shall swallow up the remains of it."

"We spanked their butts", Deneb promised with equal vigour. "I've seen armies come back from defeats like this, but that won't happen while I'm here."

"Then it is time", Boltrano clasped his hands, looking relieved.

"A promise is a promise", Lans agreed, removing from his pouch the shining sphere of Mercury that Banya had given him nearly a year ago. "This should prove a sufficient substitute."

"Indeed", Boltrano removed his own item, a slightly less shimmery orb, more of a chalk white but bearing markings both of them instantly recognized. "It will not fool Rashidi's rainbow eyes, but no substitute can do that. I must merely hope it will fool his spies into thinking I still possess the Opal stone."

"You have revealed yourself with this gesture", Lans warned him, turning the tenth Zodiac stone, the one signifying compassion in the mythology, over in his hands as he glanced furtively up and down the city streets. "They may well come for you, father."

"That is why I have turned it over to you", Boltrano said. Realizing what the knight meant, he shook his head absently. "They may kill me. It matters not. The rebel army is now the only safe place for it, as the Betrayer's search grows more desperate by the hour. He seeks the sacred stones and Tablet of Yaru to translate them. I have kept this one safe for decades, waiting for a time when I could pass it to a better guardian. You."

"No", Lans corrected him calmly, pocketing the Opal and nodded to the witch. "Everyone. Everyone in the rebellion shall keep this treasure safe. Together we are the greatest warriors in Zenobia. And we shall not rest until the Betrayer Rashidi is dead. This, I swear to you."

* * *

MERCHANT TOWN OF EL ROSARIO

"You've been quite active, my lord", the priest noted casually, as if they were friends. "I had hoped to meet with you right away, but such are the demands of the crown."

Prince Tristan was indeed beginning to feel the rigors of tiredness, but not so much that he would miss the context of this meeting. Making a motion for all his bodyguards except for Iseult to leave them, he steepled his hands, a show of contemplation when he'd already guessed the true purpose of this visit. "I'm not the king yet, priest Zalas. For that, a coronation ceremony is in order back in Zenobia, and I can't be spared at this time. Too, my father's crown is yet to be found."

"Of course, my liege", Zalas noted obsequiously. "Though I felt it appropriate, given the work you've already taken on."

The prince's eyes widened. "Truly? I had no idea being the king involved so many in-person negotiations with pirates and travelling merchants." He smiled. "So much for my initial reluctance then, eh?"

Iseult did not speak, but Zalas looked understandably surprised. "Pirates?"

Tristan gestured innocently. "We found a treasure map in the handle of the late Galnam Lyon's whip belonging to the vicious pirate captain Mulmy. Another group offered to give us Zebra's fur for it so they could go find the treasure. Toad was in need of Zebra's fur, so he traded it for a jeweled goblet, and that-"

"You needn't trouble yourself with the details", Zalas assured him, recognizing a long story when he heard one. "I trust the ordeal was worth it in the end?"

"Completely", Tristan said. "But I do apologize for keeping you waiting so long. I simply hadn't expected a visitor from the Roshian order. Particularly one who has so carefully arranged their schedule to arrive and speak with me at a time when general Faroda is out on a mission."

For a moment, the priest looked much like Toad had upon having his plots exposed, though he was notably older than the merchant. In any case, it was all Tristan could do not to look insufferably smug in his seat.

"This has nothing to do with that... person", Zalas tried after recovering. "_You_ are the rebellion's leader now, even more than Lancelot was. Gods be praised that we have finally found you and restored you to the throne."

"You mean the Gods be praised that the rebellion found me", the prince corrected him. "The rebellion led to prominence by Destin Faroda, who yes, indeed, has told me the whole story about the interactions between the rebels and your Roshian order. The tensions, the betrayals, the lies."

"My_ lord_", the priest implored, sounding exasperated, as if explaining something obvious, "you know you cannot trust that man. He was corrupted by the power of the Dark within him. That much was made clear when he threatened the lives of the high monks, when he ordered the burning of Belgen, when he spared Deneb the witch and the Highlanders, and most of all when he deserted at the time when the rebellion needed him the most. Continue to work with him, and I have no doubt that he shall one day come to take your throne... but such a decision is yours to make. I am merely stating the unclouded truth."

"Your truth", Tristan remarked, but gestured for Zalas to continue. It was just as well that Rauny was not here at the moment. He would have hated to have to stop her from tearing this man's throat out in anger, to say nothing of how Destin himself might react.

"Forgive my rashness", the priest went on. "With so much chaos, it is difficult to know whom to trust, for even Lancelot has now turned his back on us. I sought you out primarily to reaffirm your loyalty to the Gods."

"I believe in the Twenty-Two", Tristan affirmed, arms spread. "And I believe that the Roshian church has done far more good for Zenobia than ill, particularly during the Empire's reign. I haven't made any long-reaching plans yet in that regard, but I promise that your people will continue to have a place there. It is your home too, after all."

That was an easy concession to make. Destin and the others had told him everything about the Roshian order's role in the rebellion, and even had they acted far worse than that, Tristan still would not have made any plans for their removal or reduction. Any such attempt could lead to another war, this one between Zenobia's saviours and its dominant religion fighting to stay in control. That would be disastrous.

"Spoken much like your noble father, Gran", Zalas said graciously. "Yet my people have raised concerns for the future. Sparing so many Highlanders sets a dangerous precedent, it suggests you will leave Zeteginea to its own devices if and when the war is won."

"That is far in the future indeed", Tristan pointed out, remembering well the look on everyone had given at the prospect of peace talks. "But yes, I see no reason for the types of genocides the Empire visited on our people. Given what I've heard from my advisors, I have little doubt it shall be necessary to slay the Empress Endora, Supreme Overlord Hikash, the remaining Deva, and most of all the Sage Rashidi, but the majority of the Highlanders are not to blame. And we already lack the manpower to occupy their lands as they did to us."

"Perhaps. But there are other forms of occupation, my lord, and one the Highlanders never hesitated to use against us."

So that was where he was going. Tristan raised his gentle noble-born eyes to the ceiling, already beginning to realize that his reign would be filled with hard decisions like this one. "You are welcome to try it priest, but I will _not _send men to safeguard your missionaries. If they are killed for trying to spread the Roshian order to Zeteginea, that is their concern."

All humour had left the old monk's face now- he'd finally gotten down to the meat of it, and it seemed to be stressing him out as much as it was Tristan. "The Highlanders worship Freya, a false and wicked Goddess. One that actively encourages war and slaughter out of some insane belief that life and death must be kept in balance. This is not merely to save their souls, but to spare other kingdoms their wrath. By teaching them of the Twenty-Two Gods, we can lead them from their primitive ways into a more civilized way of thinking."

"So that's what you want", the prince observed despondently. "Permission after the war to raze down shrines built to Freya and put up Roshian temples in their place. To force our ways on them."

"To save the world from ever having to face a reborn Empire!", Zalas blurted out. "And to save them from eternal torment in Antanjyl! They have tried to do that to us for nearly 25 years!"

"Which is exactly why we will do nothing of the sort", Tristan said curtly, standing in his seat. "And since she isn't here, I feel the need to point out in Rauny's stead that like most outsiders, you have grossly simplified the religion of Freya. She has taught me a fair bit of it actually, so I can say it's not all about honour and death in battle. There is a poetry to much of its teachings that you may find quite charming, though of course my own faith shall always remain Roshian."

When the black-bearded priest finally looked stymied by his words, perhaps too offended by his praise of the Zeteginean faith, Tristan did as Destin and the others had taught him in their sparring sessions and seized the initiative.

"Father Zalas, if I may ask you one question of my own... these people in the church whose concerns you have travelled so far to give voice to... why are they not with you? Zeteginea is not so weakened yet as to ignore a chance to assassinate the high monk of Roshian should he travel alone."

Zalas remained still and silent for a very long time, and for the first time Tristan felt sorry for him. He was not quite yet to the advanced age of Warren or Saradin, but his frailty was showing in the way he'd unconsciously leaned on his holy ankh staff, the way his crusted eyes fluttered with exhaustion. Heaving a mighty sigh, he raised himself back up and stared directly into the prince's eyes. "I am... no longer the high monk of Roshian. I have been excommunicated."

Finally, something he _hadn't_ expected. "Excommunicated? By whom? Who has the authority to do such a thing to you?"

"It... it was the Cardinal. Cardinal Randals. Shortly after the battle at Shangrila, he appointed himself to the position of high monk."

"And he excommunicated you?" Tristan was incredulous. For years, much light had been made of the Imperial-appointed Cardinal Randals' reputation for greed and incompetence, which had long ago led to Zenobians looking to the high monk Forris' Avalon gathering for guidance instead, even though the Cardinal did technically outrank her.

Without direct instruction from his masters in the Empire, Randals had not even bothered to condemn the convent on Avalon or take any serious measures to suppress the rebellions. So long as his position continued to bring in enough tax money to allow him to maintain a lavish lifestyle worthy of a Malanian merchant lord, he was a virtual nonentity, a joke, his name nearly forgotten by the people.

Until now. "He arrived with four divisions of Zeteginean paladins, all clad in brilliantly shining golden armour", Zalas explained, angry tears beginning to bloom in his eyes, "Claiming his new position and demanding that our efforts be turned to preaching the evils of the rebellion and the glory of the Zeteginean Empire, along with a levy of new taxes on all Roshian temples in the world. I could not stomach it. So, I excommunicated myself, and escaped with the handful of priests willing to risk death out of loyalty to me. They await my orders at the temple south of here."

"...I see", the prince said after a moment. "So, the Cardinal has finally taken real action against us. If we are unfortunate, that extra Goth might actually be sent to fund their armies instead of Randals himself. Endora must have really given him a piece of her mind, or what's left of it."

"He claims to be the last hope of Zenobia", Zalas spat, unable to contain his pique any longer. "Yet he takes donation money from every temple and town, and gives it to the Empire! The fiend!"

"No less than you've claimed", Tristan pointed out. Then softened. He just could not hold a grudge, no matter what base treachery this supposed holy man had engaged in. "Yet, the fact that you come here now with reinforcements makes your loyalty clear. You wish to join the rebellion, yes? You wish to unseat the Cardinal Randals and regain your lost rank and pride?"

"Yes", the monk admitted wearily. "Yes, my lord. For all of my life, I have worked alongside the High Monk Forris to prevent Zeteginea's religion from swallowing up our own, to preserve the one true faith from the Highland barbarians. Now, my Roshian order has been perverted into the Empire's tax collectors by a man who only pays lip service to the Gods. Now, dear Forris is dead. Alone, there was simply nothing I could do to stop Randals from seizing power, Gods help us."

Tristan lowered his head, nearly whispering in the man's ear. "Do not despair, priest. We shall help you. Your monks may join with us, and your healing magic shall be greatly appreciated no doubt. But let me make one thing absolutely clear- this is _no_t a holy war with Zeteginea. You will deliver healing to our troops as requested, but you will not command them. You will take orders from myself, or Lans, or Rauny, or Aisha, or that great warrior whose name you tried to ruin once called _Destny's Child. _That is my offer."

Zalas flinched visibly at that last one, but he was clearly in too deep to quit now. Despite all his words of mercy, all his teachings, the desire for revenge behind those beady eyes was quite strong. "Saint Roshian said that any form of aid is worth giving", he quoted. "Even at the cost of great discomfort and shame to oneself."

"He knew what he was talking about", Tristan nodded. "But to be able to give that aid, first you'll need to learn desert movement like the rest of us are. So get to it."

That way, he could explain all this to Destin and Aisha without the target of their ire actually being there. The explosion he expected from one or both of them would be far away from the Daimyo's established training grounds, and only he would get roasted by it.

_It's good to be the king_, Tristan thought sarcastically.

* * *

ROSHIAN TEMPLE

The man called Xerxes was blind and frail. He lacked a strong memory, for after decades he could not exactly remember what had taken his sight from him, whether it was done by man's hand or an accident, though he suspected the former. He could remember seeing, at least, that was a fact.

Depending on the day he would actually consider his religion to be a worse handicap than lack of sight. Being a Roshian growing up in a Highland country was dangerous- that was the last thing his parents had ever learned in this life. Unable to see their desperate faces, only able to hear the final pitiful cries, he'd curled up into a ball and waited for the end to come.

But it was not the end.

The Sage of Light had appeared. The Sage of Light saved him, fed him, clothed him, relocated him to this underground Roshian temple, hidden from those who would destroy it. There, he had come into the true power of Zenobian magic at his own pace. Even if he could not generate massive pillars of fire or piercing storms of frost, healing remained equally important. Healing was one thing the Zetegineans could never do well.

And now, like all the other war orphans that Rashidi had rescued and trained as his personal assistants over the years, it was now his time to repay his master. One of those, a young-sounding woman in an assassins' somewhat revealing black garb stood folded up near Xerxes' subject on the stone slab in the temple's lowest basement, as if standing guard over it.

"He is dead", she muttered, sounding weirdly morose for someone whose job was death itself. "I haven't seen him move for two hours. He _must_ be dead, right?"

Xerxes had to admit the diagnosis was indeed grim as she said as he felt his arms all across the body to confirm nothing had changed. The subject in question was clad in armour from head to toe that lent even further bulk to his large muscular frame. Though that was broken in many places as though he'd been dropped from some great height, Rashidi had forbidden that it be removed. Only the thick horned helmet was allowed, which allowed them to see the bald, waxen face of the man beneath it, stretched into an expression of quiet anguish as he slept.

Despite being motionless, he did not look remotely peaceful. He looked like he was ready to leap up and strangle them at any moment.

"There are varying degrees of death, my ch-", he stopped himself, realizing he was using a term too familiar for someone who he was technically equals with, who might have actually been older than he. He could not tell by voice alone. They were both orphans, both eternally indebted to Rashidi. "-My apologies, I did not catch your name."

"Emily Cashel", the assassin offered. "Or Prudence, if you'd prefer."

"Thank you. As I was saying Prudence, there are records indicating that some can be saved from mortal injuries with the proper application of Roshian magics and herbs. Once, a princess from a far-off realm was saved after being technically 'dead' for over three weeks. And there is another sign the master showed me that some life yet remains in this body." Kneeling down, he felt and gripped the man's huge right gauntlet. "Put your hand on him. Anywhere will do."

A clang was his confirmation that she'd done as requested somewhere along the smooth chest plate that wasn't too badly mangled. Nodding, Xerxes moved his head over closer to the exposed head and whispered. "Destin Far-"

He did not need the second word he'd been taught- the body had already proven his point, for just a few seconds thrashing hard enough to throw Emily's hand off and nearly crush Xerxes'. "Yikes", she summarized. "He has _that_ reaction every time someone says... er... the Chaos Bringer's name?"

Xerxes had spent most of his adult life here in the temple and had no idea what that label meant, but he nodded. "Yes. A surge of impossible rage whenever those words are spoken within earshot. That is the only spark of life there. It is my task to seek out that spark, and return it to the fire it once was."

She sounded less enthusiastic now, perhaps knowing how tedious a task this would be. "I see. Gods' fortune to you then." _Impatience. Not a good quality for her line of work._

Still, it was nice to have other Roshians around. He could perform his rituals without anyone mocking him. He stood, delicately pressing down on the tough chest plate with one hand, imagining its thick metal coating reflecting candlelight. "The body is broken, but the spirit endures. That was a stronger reaction than he had on the day the master brought him here. There_ is_ still a mind in there, however faint, and it is slowly recovering."

"Excellent. Mayhap he shall be able to walk in another ten years."

"Which is why the master has tasked me with speeding his recovery", Xerxes noted with a weak smile. "Whomever this is, he must be a very important man, or else master Rashidi would not have bothered asking me to save him."

"Can you?"

He chuckled, raising his maimed sockets up to eye level and felt her withdraw from that ghoulish sight. "I once saved the life of the lord Kaus Debonair when he was injured by a Platinum dragon during his training. The creature's breath had frozen his body so thoroughly that there was not even a pulse of life left no matter what was whispered into his ear. It took me many agonizing months of work, but in the end he was restored to full health, though I doubt he would ever thank a Roshian infidel for saving him."

Touching the left gauntlet, feeling the strength lingering in its grip, he felt along the length of it for a gap, a seam of flesh where he could apply medicines without removing it. "This shall be tricky no doubt, but if it takes me the rest of my days to revive this man then I shall continue to try, for I have the master to thank for them to begin with."

* * *

PLINSPORT

The month's reprieve seemed longer than that to most of the rebels' division leaders- after so many battles within days of each other, moments where they could stop and simply embrace peace and silence could not help but drag out, devoid of adrenalin rush outside a handful of incidents such as Deneb's near burning. One by one, each division would return to Plinsport and share the stories of where they'd been with the others.

Many bore treasures as well. Lans was quick to explain the sudden reappearance of Boltrano. Though Warren had initially displayed shock at this, he quickly reverted to his usual self when he noticed everyone staring at him. "Probably an impostor", he remarked quietly, "a descendent or apprentice taking his name."

Gilbert's group, now swelled by the addition of Lyon's beasts and apprentice tamers, had found another Zenobian loyalist on Isle Avalon bearing a glinting green stone, which Canopus was quick to point out was the Emerald, the Zodiac stone meant to signify leadership. Gilbert had waved the words away, but few could miss his smile.

Even more surprising was the third new stone- one which the prisoners of Diaspola had managed to keep hidden away for years in a river basin, only bringing it out after they had confirmed that Norn had indeed thrown her lot in with the rebels. The Aqua, a dark blue stone, looked larger in Norn's slender hands, but she offered it to everyone willingly.

"Ruby, Opal, Emerald, Aqua, and Pearl", Saradin Carm observed curiously once both groups had gone to train with the Daimyos. His face reflected the joy of the others, but also confusion. "Perhaps I'm overrating my master's abilities again, but his missing these ones is not like him. Now we possess five Zodiac stones, and Rashidi doesn't seem to care at all."

"We know he has at least three of his own", Tristan pointed out. "Peridot, Sapphire, Diamond. All stolen from the Sky Islands. But Warren said they're useless without the Tablet of Yaru to translate them."

"I'm right here you know", the Moon sage grumbled, walking up to them with a curt nod to Saradin. "My hearing isn't quite gone yet. And yes, the twelve stones are certainly items of great worth, but their true power lies in the old spells engraved in them. The First spells which, were used by the Twenty-Two to create the world. Regarded by many as a bad move."

They had returned to the meeting room where Tristan had proposed the idea of peace talks. Retaking his chair, the prince regarded the sage curiously, holding up the red stone he'd fought so hard to gain. "Yet Baron Apros used the Ruby to gain monstrous power and even summon demons to aid him. I saw no signs that he possessed the tablet."

Warren sat as well, for once actually looking to give the matter some thought. "Rashidi", he deduced. "He must have charged the stone with some of his own magical power and claimed it was the stone's, hoping to create in Apros a foe powerful enough to destroy you. Apros did not speak any incantation when he used the stone, did he? No, of course not. A fat fool like that would not be able to remember even the simplest of spells."

"He touched it", Tristan remembered. "There was a glow, blood red as the stone, enveloping his body. I heard a noise like some ancient beast screaming, the glow intensified, and there he was."

"With angry spirits radiating from him, making a noise like a wicked man's laughter", Saradin provided. When Tristan looked at him, the Truthsayer shrugged. "Well. Perhaps only those versed in magic could see it. He was gathering the souls of the hundreds he had slain before our arrival to him, using them to fuel his change."

"A spell not unheard of", Warren gasped in relief. "So he has not yet translated Ruby, and he may not possess the tablet at all. Stay on the watch for it, prince. That is the key to Rashidi's plan. It is the reason why all this unnecessary misery has come to pass."

This idea rocked the prince back into his chair. He still had some difficulty wrapping his mind around the idea that someone would orchestrate twenty-five years of death and terror, engulfing five nations, just to gain twelve small stones and a tablet with writing on it. His father and mother. His brothers and sisters. His home, all destroyed... "He is gone beyond madness", he whispered bleakly.

"If you consider thirst for power to be madness", Warren concurred. "In which case all of us are mad. I hear the high monk paid you a visit while we were away?"

"Father Zalas, yes", Tristan said, expecting the scorn etching its way onto the sage's face. "The Cardinal Randals has taken everything from him in an attempt to turn Zenobia's faithful against us."

Warren looked impressed, even happy. "Ahh! The one man who is a bigger disgrace to his title than Zalas himself. Mayhap I'll remain with you after all, if only to see that one get what's been coming to him for far too long. An easy battle to make up for all the difficult ones."

"Your confidence is most welcome", the prince waved his thanks cautiously, knowing from the others the sage's erratic moods. It was simply his way. "Will you...?"

The seer scowled, right back to his default annoyed look, to Saradin's faint amusement. "Oh, that? Bah! Small wonder Tarot-reading died out, make one accurate reading and suddenly everyone wants you to foretell what horrors lie in their future. Insufferable, really! Well I'll have you know that I left my deck back at the capital where it shall _remain_!"

Neither of them spotted Saradin sighing, waiting until the sage's back was arched to its highest in indignation, and then reaching into the man's back sash to retrieve the stack of twenty-three cards and throw it on the table.

"Details", he snapped. "I'm an old man, I can't be bothered remembering details. I'll be taking that back, thank you very much."

But the Truthsayer was just a bit quicker, placing his own hand over the Tarot deck before Warren's arm could reach it. "Just one moment if you will, esteemed sage. I wish to attempt a reading for the prince in your stead. You can watch as I do it, and point out all the foolish mistakes I will no doubt make."

In a flash, the righteous fury was gone, replaced by bewilderment, then wry amusement. Warren stroked his beard. "And here I thought you didn't like me, Truthsayer."

The face of Rashidi's last student remained resolutely blank. "I do not. But one of the tenets of philosophy in my kingdom of Balmorra, along with honesty, is to show kindness to all who live, whether or not they are deserving of it."

"Hence why you perform this small favour for Fichs Tristoram", Warren nodded in mock understanding, leaning back. "Very well. Just don't be angry if he executes you for giving him the Fool Card. People always take that one literally, and so fulfil their own prophecy."

"I assure you, I shall do nothing of the sort", the prince said, still not quite sure if the two wizards were joking. "Both of you must have heard by now- I am soft-hearted, yes?"

"Like a pillow", the sage told him cheerfully. Growing up in Malano, Tristan would be one of the only rebels who knew what a pillow was. "But fear not, my pillow-prince. Pillows have their uses too."

Preparing the incense and dividing the deck into three piles, Saradin held his breath...

* * *

A/N: Quick update, but after the recent review I didn't want to disappoint. Bit of a reprieve in the action here, and a bit more humour than usual hopefully.


	28. The Ruined City

Disc: Tactics Ogre is property of Enix.

* * *

**The Ruined City**

_'I should think that, by now, we all understand what is going to happen here whether we like it or not. _

_Win or lose, we shall all of us be raised into heroes and martyrs, for that is often how we humans inspire ourselves. Without idols on plateaus to strive towards there can be no progress, no ambition. Even the title of 'king' and all which stems from that are still more facets of that desire to reach the peak._

_A man dies, a legend endures, because the people keep it alive- one more reason why the people are always more important than even the mightiest individual. That, at least, is what I believe. What I _mus_t believe.'_

_-Gilbert Oblion, Dragon Master_

* * *

DESERT OUTSIDE PLINSPORT

"Step", the instructor commanded, anonymous but not muffled behind his black metal mask. "Step firmly, but randomly."

"I _know_", Aisha repeated tolerantly, trying not to roll her eyes at the man's stubbornness. "You told me this eight times already."

Twenty seconds and fifteen steps later, the samurai said, "...apparently, nine times is not enough. You were meant to move_ toward_ me, child."

Aisha looked up. Sure enough, she'd been moving to the east. The sameness and curve of the desert sand had directed her, and she dared not look up. "Don't call me child! This is hard! How am I supposed to know where I'm going without looking up?"

As usual, the instructor let just a touch of condensation creep into his tone, a hint of the disdain for outsiders further within. "You_ may_ look up, child. Your leader plans to travel at night, as is wise for amateurs. You are focusing too much on your own feet."

"I have to", she snapped, feeling the last vestiges of her patience eroding. "If I don't, how in Antanjyl am I supposed to move them randomly?"

"Instinct", the samurai said, stepping over to her in the way he had described. His movement, of course, had no flaws, and he was able to keep his head up the entire time even with the hot sun up in his face. "You must master the random step, prevent your mind from falling into an unconscious pattern. Become predictable, and the desert predators descend."

"Bring 'em on", she snarled, as if having forgotten that her only role was that of a healer, not a fighter. "I'd rather deal with them than not see where I'm going in this dump."

That prompted laughter and muttered Deneuvian from half a dozen of the others the Daimyo had assigned to teaching the rebels the tricks of desert movement. "No", her instructor corrected her when it had subsided. "No, you would not. Do you know what a Salamand is, child? Do you know what an Earth Titan is?"

"A Titan that sleeps under the sand", she guessed, grateful to Needle-nose for giving her some ammo for this 'conflict'. "They're tough yeah, but we've taken them down before."

"Wrong", the man declared. "Those you have fought are the _offspring _of the lords of the sand. Those of them who leave the desert do so because they are too small and weak to compete for food with the rest of their kin. They react to any intrusion in their territory with a ferocity no other Fire or Ice giant in the world can compare to... yet even _they_ steer clear of the hunting grounds of the Salamand."

Kneeling on a rock fixing a leg plate, Selec Fubuki nodded to get the girl's attention. "Big dragon", he explained, stretching his gloved arms wide in pantomime. "_Really_ big dragon. Orange skin, so hot it burns people just by being nearby. Not fun."

"Great", she murmured, trying the steps again and once again failing. "And _why_ did you people choose to live here again?"

There was no laughter in the Deneuvians now. In fact several of the instructors were looking at her with open hostility until Fubuki got off the rock and walked up to her. The message was clear, and the offended Samurai masters returned to their own pupils. Aisha's own instructor signalled for a break before departing.

"Not big talkers", she observed, fighting the urge to punch someone. "Are you?"

"Waste of moisture", the normally curt mercenary pointed out more earnestly than the instructor. "It's funny, though. You asked the same question I've been wondering for most of my life. Not the why- I _know _why. I just wonder if there would ever be a way out of it."

"So?"

He chuckled, taking her by the shoulders and sticking one hand beneath her chin, so that she could not instinctively look down at her feet as she walked. "To abandon our homeland is to abandon it to the Ninja order, our most ancient foe. We have fought them for longer than Zenobia or Zeteginea has existed, for longer than can be remembered. Leaving Deneuve means letting our enemy win."

"It's still stupid", she protested, taking another cautious step- speed wouldn't matter until they were doing the real thing. "Impossible heat, huge monsters, traps, bad navigation, and Gods-damned _sand_ everywhere, covering _everything_. Why?"

He shrugged, relaxing the hand beneath her chin. "It's where our ancestors settled. Like the people you met at the Valley of Kastro, they- _we_- are nomads driven from our homes long ago. What other country would have us? Malano? Gargastan?" He gave a mirthless chuckle behind his mask.

Ten steps after, they broke apart, the young cleric's chin stinging from the man's tight grip, no doubt a side effect of his own training. "Better", the mercenary observed. "The real test is not to let the mind fall into an unconscious pattern and become predictable. Much the same as our swordsmanship- predictability is death. Dahlmud is a land of randomness and chaos, and always shall be."

Unconvinced, she returned to her Roshian ankh, twirling it once to make sure she hadn't quite lost _all_ of her energy yet. It only felt like it. "You don't have to coddle me", she said, eyes still fuming. "I'm _not_ a stupid kid. You were never this nice with anyone else."

Fubuki shrugged. "So what are you then, Aisha Forris? A lady?" One of the other instructors laughed for him, and he tapped his mask with one hand. "You are the daughter of the former grand monk. Raised in the Avalon convent due to the war, yes?"

She had thought revenge would have made those memories less painful. She'd been wrong. Or perhaps the stress of today's lessons were taking their toll. "...Yes. Avalon was- _is_- my home." Putting on a superior smile, she nodded. "And I know it just as well as you know Dahlmud. I know where the fairies gather, where the secret caves are, and where to find remnants of the dragonkin's magic. Mother always spoke reverently of Zenobia, but it was Avalon where I grew up."

"A matter still up for debate", the samurai said neutrally. "Far as I can tell, you're the youngest one here. And don't look now, but here comes the oldest."

The crooked-nosed priest was in fact far from that honour, but Aisha could tell without looking who he meant. "Great. Zal-ass. Come to lecture me again, old turd? Cause I've been takin' that all day, and I'm sick of it."

"Such was not my intention", Zalas said. "I, too, have been momentarily banished from instruction in the ways of desert travel."

"And you thought I'd be good company", Aisha snorted. "Sure."

She wasn't sure how to react to the news of the priest joining the rebellion. On one hand, he had always been a cantankerous old fool, inflexibly adamant on the teachings of Roshian even in areas where Forris had been more open to change. His work against Destin Faroda would not be soon forgotten.

On the other hand, he was a man who knew Forris well. Better than her. Perhaps better than any other who still lived. She would never call him a father, but he came closer than anyone else she knew. An annoying semi-father who never respected her due to her age and gender.

And now brought down and humbled, disgraced by a pious arrogance even greater than his own, there was just a drop of pity mingled with all that dislike. "So. I hear Randals kicked you out. Good riddance, eh?"

"I removed myself", Zalas corrected her. "I could not abide the blasphemy the Cardinal was extolling."

"Can dish it out, but can't take it, huh?"

Fubuki seemed to find this hilarious, but eventually decided this wasn't his place any more and departed. "You are but a child", Zalas told her, proud despite his losses. "I could never allow you to take power in the Order, not until you are ready. Your mother would agree with me."

"We'll never know."

The priest's green eyes widened. There was bitterness there, unsurprisingly, but also accusation. "The heat must be affecting your mind, child. I had nothing to do with your mother's death."

She could not look at him. The endless expanse of sand loomed before her, heat warping the air into a riot of distortion and she wondered if she would find Forris' soul if she wandered out there alone and died. "No. You just sat there watching. Sitting on your thumbs doing _nothing_, the only thing you're good at."

She heard the man backing off and performing a brief, familiar prayer to the Chariot, no doubt asking for strength and patience. Of course he had been there, forced to watch helplessly as Gares executed the grand monk in the largest town square in Avalon. Just as he had the royal family of Zenobia all those years ago, and both times with enough guards that trying to stop it would be suicidal even if Gares was not powerful as he was.

And he, Zalas, always the more cautious of the two of them, had not been willing to take all the Roshian paladins and monks into battle, and sacrifice them to try and save their leader. That would have been a terrible waste, and had she lived Forris would have said as much. She would never have wanted anyone to sacrifice their lives for hers.

But none of that mattered. Logic and reasoning and calculation crumbled away in the face of the fact that Aisha had lost her mother, and he had not attempted to save her. "You mustn't hate", he offered, remembering the old mantra. "With Gares I understand, but he is gone now. Your hate is wasted energy that could be better spent on other things."

_Now_ she could look at him. Her gaze was frightening to him, despite her age. "Hate is what _gives_ me energy, old fart. Look around you, do you think you'll see a single person who isn't looking forward to destroying the Empire when we get across this Godsforsaken pit of sand? No. _Everyone_ here hates the Empire for the crimes committed against them. _That_ driving hate is what started this whole rebellion, and freed our home from them."

"And caused millions of unnecessary deaths", he pointed out, trying not to flinch and reminding himself that he was still a good fifty years older than she. Still, that fire in her eyes reminded him uncomfortably of her mother, albeit in a mood she would never entertain for long. As fit the scriptures of Roshian, lady Forris always denied hatred, even hatred of Gares Endora and his incomprehensible people, culture and religion. He had never been quite so forgiving or optimistic, and indeed in the end it was her honesty and trust in others that led to her capture and execution.

Now, he would have to play that part as well. For the sake of her daughter, and for the sake of a Roshian Order sorely in need of the will to hope again.

"Regardless", he tried again, more slowly this time. "What is done is done, and I cannot deny that the rebellion has accomplished what I thought would not happen in my own lifetime. The Cardinal stealing my position is a sure sign of the Empire's desperation... but we must not allow ourselves to become beasts as they are. I forego all my hatred of Randals, for I know that he is merely a weak, cowardly man. Long have we known each other in the convent of Avalon, and I know all he ever desired from becoming a holy man was money and power, and it is perhaps to our shame the Roshian Order provides both to its faithful."

Aisha had no reply. Her arms were folded defiantly, eyes shut but unable to block the tears.

"I have known Reyna Forris even longer. Though I found her belief in the human spirit to be naive at times, I still respected her more than any other member of the clergy. It was she alone who chose to balance the roles of parenthood and priesthood. She alone who knew that we would have to be the ones to guide Zenobia through the age of darkness without kings to lead them."

"Guildus and Mildain were more parents to me than she was", Aisha noted petulantly, even though both knew that to be a lie, and the petulance became a complete fit, crying into the man's robes. "Our _faith_ killed her! What good are the Twenty-Two if they let something like that happen?!"

"You know the answer to that, child, if you have ever studied the teachings at all."

She did, of course. He and Forris had never allowed any real slackers to remain long in the convent, and Guildus at least had been a good student. She knew the answer. This was merely an outpouring of the grief she had buried for so long, releasing it on the higher powers now that the mortal culprit was gone. Such things had to happen for those Aisha's age, he recognized, or it would eat away the vessel.

"Aisha", he said in a more serious tone. "I am never your father. I cannot tell you what to do. The Order of Roshian is yours to remain with or depart however you see fit. I can only implore you to discard the hatred that led you to blackmail the rebellion."

That got her attention, distracted from her grief. "Wait, you knew about that? All along?"

"The grand temple of Avalon will always be my home", he noted without pride. "Yes, I heard you threaten the life of Harrison Ordas. Now that the object of your vengeance is gone, I do not wish to see you waste the rest of your life hating others for what has happened. That way leads only to destruction. It has driven far more than one man to evil."

"You're a fine one to talk about morality, Zal-ass", she countered, the bitterness returning. Not for long, however- she craned her neck over her shoulder. "But... thanks."

"You are most welcome." Sensing the hate and frustration receding for the moment, he walked up to her from behind, holding her arms as she once again attempted the desert walk.

"Remember. One step at a time, child. Just as with the teachings of Roshian. Only..." Relieved to feel no sudden tensing or anger from her, he took his own steps behind her and smiled. "Only, once you have learned this technique, you shall have to teach _me_."

* * *

PLINSPORT

Finding Slust the Red deep in conversation with the prince was not itself worrisome when Destin and several of the other divisions returned from the day's training. The look on his face _was_- the normally jovial dark-skinned knight had an expression that suggested he'd fallen back under Rashidi's charm again, though the fact that he was not blindly attacking them made it clear that was not the case this time.

"You've returned", he said, realizing how stupid that sounded the moment he said it.

"No, just a mass hallucination brought on by all of your ladies missing my face too much", Slust replied, his voice strangely forward. "Sorry about that. If Fenny heard that she'd take my head off, particularly at a time like this."

"Sky Knight Slust", Tristan explained, "has come to request our aid. Against the will of Fenril of Ice."

"Of course", Destin nodded, looking around the table at the others who had gathered for this unexpected meeting. Though he had not spent very much time around the female Sky Knight, the quickness with which she had demanded the holy Brunhild sword back from him was testament to how little she thought of the people of the world below. Considering the events of the past twenty-five years, he could not truly blame her. "What has happened? Is Rashidi attacking the Sky Islands again?"

"No", Saradin Carm shook his head at the other end of the table. "Rather, it is his defence which has prompted this request. You know that the Cherubim Yushis left us shortly before the battle of Allamoot, placing the handful of angels who chose to follow her under Lans' command."

"I permitted it", Tristan raised a mail-clad hand, already geared for battle in new armour a slightly lighter shade of red than Destin's own, with a white breastplate and no helmet. Still, the similarity was noted. "As you've said, the upper worlders are not conscripts. In truth, no one here is- we are all either volunteers or mercenaries. But Yushis did _not _tell us that her goal in going there was to convince Fenril of Ice to join us."

"Fenny has her own priorities", Slust said apologetically. "She was scouting out the last Sky Island- Shiggult, the Ruined City. Looks like that one fell to Rashidi's takeover as well."

"Yet you and Fellana both told us it was no threat", Saradin pointed out. "That Shiggult's movement systems were badly damaged in a war long ago."

"Yeah", the red Sky Knight blushed. "But they got too close to it. They had undead and dragons, and they captured Yushis. Ever since then, Fenny's been trying to rally up an army to go save her, but it's not going well. No one wants to help the sister of the betrayer Mizal. Not when she's defied our people's law so many times."

"So you come to us instead", Destin remarked, staring out the window as if expecting the 'Ruined City' to materialize above them at any time. "You can get us close?"

"Any time", Slust vowed, gratitude already shining through whatever pretence of dignity he'd put on. Whatever the other two Sky Knights did, however they acted, Slust would always be a loyal and gracious ally to all who deserved it. "I'll fly Muspelm as close as we dare go, and then you guys can just jump off so you don't have to fight off land... that is, if you'll go."

"Don't be foolish.", Tristan's words sounded strangely harsh coming from one many of his own generals considered soft hearted, and he pounded the table for emphasis. "Yushis is one of us! And we never intended to leave the Empire in control of any of your kingdoms indefinitely. In fact, now is the perfect time for us to reclaim it from them!"

A throaty cough rang out, and for the first time Destin's attention switched to their other main attendee, Kaus Debonair. "Begging your pardon, gentlemen, but I don't feel that our decision is as cut and dry as that- Yushis is but one individual. In order to mount a campaign against this Shiggult, we would have to delay our travel into Dahlmud Desert, which the _Daimyos_ may not take kindly to."

Destin tensed, expecting Slust to react poorly to that, but the red knight was either too disciplined or truly was too laid-back to take offence. Instead it was Tristan again who looked the most annoyed. "Yushis is one of us", he repeated. "Even the weakest fighter in this rebellion deserves a rescue attempt... and I should know. Surely the Samurai can be persuaded to put off their vengeance on Shogun Prochon for a few more days."

"Be my guest, gentlemen", Debonair spread his long arms defensively. "I wish you luck. I have lived as their neighbour for many years, but perhaps they shall be more forgiving with your brand of reasoning. I merely felt _someone_ must play Ogre's advocate here."

"Objection noted." The look in the princes' wide eyes made it clear he had no time to brook further argument that he was _not_ in fact the weakest fighter in the rebellion. "These are my orders as your leader, the leader of the rebellion. All divisions currently stationed here should move to the Chaos Gate to the south and prepare for magical travel to Muspelm. I shall explain the situation to the _Daimyos_ in person."

"All of them?", the Truthsayer questioned, semi-horrified. "Leave Plinsport and the rest of this region unprotected?"

"All of them except for you, honoured Saradin", Tristan corrected. "You and your golems shall guard this front while we are gone. If the enemy should launch an attack, send word to the bird men stationed at the Chaos Gate."

Destin nodded. He had seen the new specimens Saradin had engineered during his time away from melted iron and rock, and the resulting glossy blue figures at least looked more impressive than the standard Karmatic golems... and more importantly, they could never be mistaken for humans.

Slust, however, looked pained, reluctant to being even further grave news to people he did not wish to bother, that many of his kind would look down upon him for speaking to. "I'll go with ya then, see what I can do about those samurai guys. One more thing though, prince. Yushis left another with us when she went to Shiguld. If we're going back into a battle, I don't want him there."

"Him?" Most of them looked confused until Lans' eyes lit up and he leaned forward. "The child?"

"Yeah", the Sky Knight echoed. "Hey, you're Lans, right? I saw you in a few battles at Organa, but with Yushis gone, someone's gotta take care of the kid, right?"

Had he not been the man's sworn brother, Destin would have laughed at the absurd look on Lans' face, something between humiliation and outrage but lost all threat due to being surrounded by men and women he would never harm. "Pray hold a moment, sir Slust", the old captain protested. "Even should miss Yushis choose to adopt the child, I am never the father! I know not the first thing about rearing a child!"

"You're the closest thing, friend", Slust pointed out, cheerily clapping him on the shoulder. "You really must've made some kind of impression on Yushis for her to name the child after you, though I guess anything's better than the real father, right?"

"Very well", the prince noted, miraculously able to stay straight-faced as well. "When we arrive in Muspelm, little Lancelot shall be brought to Organa before the attack begins, and captain Lans shall be his guardian. Captain, I ask that you appoint a temporary commander to your division in your absence."

The man sputtered and fidgeted in his armour, but as with all those Destin had come to know well, he knew Lans to be far too dignified and loyal to make a louder fuss about a direct order from his master, at least not yet.

"Well, now we know why you were so insistent on your name", he whispered as the meeting began to break up. "You were saving the full version for your son, weren't you? Ah, but worry not, brother. He'll be talking and able to handle a sword before you know it."

"Sir Destin, with all respect due to my sworn brother... _do_ shut up."

* * *

SKY ISLAND MUSPELM

Tristan had not spent long planning after receiving Slust the Red's grave news and speaking with the _Daimyo_. Perhaps still driven by the memory of how close things had come at Shangrila, he had simply ordered every available division to take the Chaos Gate leading to Muspelm, from which they could seek out the last Sky Island in Imperial control and attack en masse.

It was not the kind of plan Destin would orchestrate, or even one the prince would endorse under most circumstances. But in this case, at least according to Slust, the enemy was outnumbered, cut off from contact with the rest of the Empire without the Sage as a go-between. If Rashidi _did _decide to show up, all divisions had orders to fall back and regroup around him. Hopefully, all the rebel leaders together would be able to threaten him now.

Except Lans of course, who would remain in Fenril's kingdom with the half-angel child named for him. Seeing 'little Lancelot' for the first time, Destin was struck by the strange blending of mortal and angelic features the tiny child showed even this early- a tiny tuft of light blue hair at the top of his large head, luminescent skin a shade between human and angel, and eyes that shimmered with life, though thankfully not in the hatefully familiar rainbow of colours, but a bright healthy brown.

Despite all he had seen, all he had done, the child's innocent babbling and pointing remained something special and unique to him, and he decided that had more people witnessed such a thing there would be no war.

"No one else can know", he promised, seeing the unspoken concern in his friend's heart. "Not unless Yushis feels it is safe. As far as they can know, he truly _is_ her child, born from a mortal during her mission to our world. They already despise Yushis here, that crime won't change anything."

"A mortal, yes", Lans agreed, trying to tousle the boy's hair and hold him close and finding it most awkward in a armour which he still refused to shed. "A mortal whom is now dead and gone."

"Whatever you say. But Slust did have the right idea about you- there have been many worse fathers. The real one, for example."

Slust had not seemed shocked to find Fenril gone from Organa along with a dozen of the strongest Seraphim in the kingdom. "Not enough", he observed grimly. "They can't win. We gotta hurry if we want to save her or Yushis."

Fortunately, it was only half a day before Shiggult came into view. Destin shared the surprise of many of the rebels as the floating sanctuary burst through a cloud bank, for even among the Sky Islands it was a strange sight.

At one point it had to have been whole, he deduced. The pattern of the slopes along the bottom and top edges was too coincidental, too arranged to be a natural formation. Together it would have formed a single circular island about half the size of Shangrila, though bigger than Organa or Muspelm. However, Shiggult was no longer together. Instead of one floating landmass they beheld two smaller ones, only held together by a single long bridge along the east side. The gap between the two was largest in the middle, with the west corners nearly touching each other to form a complete enclosure. Regardless, he was relieved to see it was not moving.

"The Ruined City", Slust recited Shiggult's other name calmly. "The only one of our islands to be ravaged by war until Rashidi showed his ugly mug. When the ruler was killed, this island was fragmented into two, barely holding together. And the Chock doesn't work at all. The place is mostly a wreck, but you'll find a castle on the northern part. That would be where they're keeping Yushis, and possibly Fenny."

Everyone seemed to be stuck absorbing that for a moment before Gilbert spoke up. "Yet you said the ruler was killed. Who will they have in charge then? It shan't be another charmed Sky Knight."

"No", the brown-skinned hero mused unhappily. "There's gonna be another Sky Knight, alright. Fogel. The toughest of us three, or at least he was the last time I visited."

"Then he is mine", Destin vowed, drawing his new sword but amending it to an offer when he saw the concern on Tristan's face. "Because of my own personal crises, I was unable to contribute anything to your first two battles against a charmed Sky Knight. The time is past due for me to make up for that to all of you."

"Appreciated", Gilbert noted glibly, gazing out over the plains of their own island of Muspelm, which they had also fought to claim. Even he wore armour and blade now, stolen from an Imperial Dragoner befitting his new talents and responsibility. "Lyon was actually the one to destroy Slust's charm necklace here. Granted, he might've been under the impression whomever did so would be named the new rebel leader, but still... it was more than I thought him capable of."

"He fooled us all", Tristan agreed wistfully. "Right up until the end. Regardless, his sacrifice shan't be in vain. We must liberate this last island, freeing the heavens from Imperial rule at last."

On cue, tiny black figures began to appear in the sky above. A familiar sight by now for those accustomed to the way the Empire conducted their air raids. "Takes me back", Gilbert gave Debonair a wry look. "But now we have all grown our own teeth, despite losing most of our wizards. Destin, if you would come with me..."

He did not go far. As the first shouts of battle rang out and all the rebels with ranged attacks began to fire back at the dragons swooping towards Muspelm, the dragon tamer led his friend to the spacious stable where their own were kept ready. He tensed at first, being surrounded by so much scale and muscle not always amenable to reason, but soon relaxed and sheathed his blade.

Gilbert had done his job well.

"This one", he claimed, directing him to one of the largest chambers, easily the size of an inn's dormitory. Within, he saw a collection of dark green scales and spikes stir with their presence, and a single yellow eye open and close.

"Beowulf", Gilbert named the creature in a rare moment of genuine pride. "One of my finest. Or at least Lyon's finest before passing into my care as beast master. Native to Antalia, he looks like. I have done everything in my power to ensure they all remain strong and intelligent beasts." Even as he spoke, the yellow eye seemed to be following the movements of his mouth curiously. "Strong blood, and proud. Smart as a whip, he is, just you watch."

"He is a black dragon", Destin felt the urgent need to point out. For a very long time he had pondered the correct way to repay Galnam Lyon for the sin of ordering him to murder one of his own pets, practically his own family, due to it being a black brood, and thus seen as an ill omen by superstitious Zenobian warriors. Now, he would never get that chance.

He would never again be so callous, but his prior experience with such a brood- and inexperience with dragon riding compared to most of his comrades- gave him pause.

"A Tiamat, boy", Gilbert amended, gesturing to the creature's more developed legs, the way the dragon's front limbs had become longer more flexible limbs as the entire body expanded vertically to match, biped instead of quadruped. "The adult form of the black brood, like the Platinums of Zeteginea and the Salamands of Dahlmud. And yes, I realize they are generally the hardest ones to tame. Beowulf has a strong will indeed. He requires a rider who is equally strong."

The rebel leader remained doubtful. "Be not so certain I am strong. Lans has told you of my exploits after leaving the army, I trust?"

"No", the older man said, stroking Beowulf's head and glad to see it rise, focusing both eyes on Destin now, as if staring into his soul for judgement. "He had no need to. I could see the pain in your eyes. Besides, that was not my sole reason for this choice."

"No? What is the other?"

Gilbert tapped one of the arm scales, then took the claw at the end of it into his hand, somehow with absolute trust that the beast wouldn't maul him or breathe that horrible yellow acid and melt his flesh. "The brood of black is not merely an ill omen to Zenobians, my boy. The Zetegineans fear that brood more than the others they train, partly because they have the least amount of experience with them compared to the Silvers and Golds native to their homelands. Whether rebel or Imperial, a Tiamat soaring through the sky is an easy thing to see. And it is a sight of terror. Even more so, once they realize just whom is riding it."

That made sense, he slowly realized. Ordinarily, the Imperial soldiers were too well-disciplined to disobey their commanding officer whomever they may be, making intimidation tactics against them a waste of resources.

But today was not a normal situation. These divisions had been abandoned by Rashidi and, by the look of things, forgotten. Forgotten, and left under the command of Fogel the Accursed. A man who was not of Highland blood, nor even a human, whose loyalty was only dictated by the charm around his neck. For once, scaring these troops might be a worthwhile effort.

Then, to Destin's amazement, the creature responded to the gentle words. Its long neck bobbed up and down, its eyes focusing in on him ever more intently, and its wings flapping to demonstrate their vigor. Even one inexperienced as he could recognize the gesture- eagerness. Beowulf was quite eager to get out there and show everyone that it was the best.

"You will need it", Gilbert murmured to dispel any further doubts. "Slust has told me... one of Fogel the Accursed's other titles is 'the Dragon Rider'. Not difficult to figure what that means. And in any case, he should even the odds."

_I can do this. I can do this. I am the man who defeated Gares Endora. Surely, mastering a creature he kept as a pet should not be so difficult?_

"T'would be rude of me", Destin acknowledged calmly. "To discard this mighty gift. I thank you, Gilbert. I shall do everything I can to show Beowulf that I am worthy."

To begin on that claim, he met the dragon's gaze full on, refusing to break away or even blink. The old saying went that eyes were the windows to the soul. He hoped that Beowulf could see through them, and get some hint of the struggles he had endured to come this far.

The Tiamat snorted lightly, tossing its wings back in defiance as if to say _So What?_

"He likes you", Gilbert explained gladly. "The rest of these have a designated rider already. Mount up, son. It's time for you to fly at last."

"Gods help me", he said with a shudder as Gilbert helped him up onto the creature's wide back.

He could already tell this was going to be an interesting experience. Terrifying, but interesting.

* * *

He was correct.

The moment he and a dozen other flying creatures with mounted warriors left the stable, Destin could tell the fight would be a bit more difficult than expected. Already the skies were dark with the silouettes of enemy fliers, and it was not long before he felt the familiar chilly mist that denoted the presence of the undead as well. Stronger undead than the Pogrom Forest, possibly plucked from the best of Omicron's specimens at Antalia.

Fortunately, every single one of his allies had more training in ways of the sky than he. They would unleash projectiles, breath weapons of ice and flame or arcing blasts of lightning from Canopus' group, then break off before the enemy could pursue. After the initial frenzy they would form into their designated division groups, relying instead on the strength of small packs to prevent undue losses. They were all very impressive in the eyes of Destiny's Child, but Beowulf...

Beowulf was a terror, pure and simple. His brood was the most fearsome to the untrained eye, and he knew it. His shrieks filled the sky, nearly deafening his rider but partly comforting as well. In fact, part of his 'test' seemed to be diving towards enemies as fast as he could, and seeing if he could smell Destin's fear.

Together they became a nightmarish figure of red and black metal zipping across Muspelm and down towards the southern half of Shiggult, unleashing acid at those who did not falter and tearing them to shreds. He would only retreat when the undead presented themselves, staying away just long enough for Zalas, Aisha, Norn or one of the other clerics to spot the telltale yellow mist and banish the source.

"Well done indeed", Destined congratulated the beast when they were clear, patting its neck wit his off hand, repeating the motion seven more times. "I count eight kills. I see now why Lyon named you for the legendary barbarian." Proud Beowulf did not seem to care about the compliment, instead craning its neck towards the largest gathering of enemy and making a low growling that sounded like metal being melted in a forge's vats.

"Not yet", he assured his newest ally, careful to place an edge of steel into the command. "Not just yet. They're trying to pull us out where our ground divisions can't help us. Now we have to wait for them to make the drop down to the Ruined City. If the bad men try to interfere with that... _then_ we destroy them."

That promise satiated the dragon, at least for now. Its rider breathed out, trying to vent trapped anxiety in short gasps without offending the creature. _No wonder all the black dragon riders go mad, having to hide their fear all the time._

Still, its purpose had been served. Before the hour was up, all the rebel ground divisions had completed the landing in the south end of Shiggult, an awkward jump for many even with a cushion of tree branches that Kaus Debonair had flown down on his own Gold dragon to prepare earlier. The Deva nodded at him as they pulled alongside one another, abandoning their dragons to their own forms of communication.

"They fight well", Debonair commented, staring out across the collection of derelict stone shells they figured were the Ruined City's namesake. "But also desperately. They know Rashidi shall not save them."

"Good. Mayhap some shall surrender and save us the effort. This is not like Shangrila- we cannot afford to lose many of our own at this stage."

There was admiration in the general's harsh countenance now. Admiration, and something else... "So you also believe this to be an illogical move on your prince's part?"

Destin sighed. Of course the Deva would not see things the way Tristan had. The two were polar opposites, even if both believed in showing mercy in battle. "...Yes. Had I still been in charge of the rebellion, I would have waited until after we had crippled their main army before pursuing side tasks such as this. However, such a stance might have also meant the death of Yushis."

"One person. One person who is not even a leader, whom may already be dead regardless."

"You heard the prince, Kaus. Yushis is one of us. Lans likes her, and there's few enough people he likes."

"_Schwach"_, the pale Highlander scoffed._ "_Sentimentality unsuited for the army whose success or failure will determine the future of all the lands of the south, if not the entire known world. You _were_ there when he actually proposed a peace treaty with my people, yes?"

"Yes." That had not gone over well with anyone, and still Tristan had not given up on that score.

"You think I should resume command. Doubtless all of the Highlanders who have joined us excepting possibly the lady Vinzalf would wish me to resume command, for it was I was who liberated Zenobia and I earned the name 'Chaos-Bringer'. Not this soft-hearted son of Gran who only went to war because so many people were doing so in his name, and even then I understand Rauny had to push him hard to get him to say yes."

"_Sich_. Absolutely correct, Destin Faroda."

"But", he cut in, letting the word hang in the air. "You, general, were not there to witness what things were like when I began taking more and more power to myself, when I came to rely more and more on the dark power that your own prince unwittingly granted me, and spurned my friends who only wished to help me. Many of whom I betrayed."

"So the stories are true", Kaus observed, stopping and for a moment marvelling at him. "_You_ were Gares' _Opferung_ all along, the poor child he terrorized and bled to complete his own transformation into the monster we know today, may he freeze in Niflheim forevermore."

"Yes." His eyes narrowed and watered. He was beginning to feel itchy, talking about this, but also knew Kaus deserved to know the full truth. "Raised, though not born, in Antanjyl on Earth. Freed after years of torment, brought to Volzak and trained by Lans Hamilton in the ways of the sword, and Warren of Moon in the ways of magic. Groomed to be Zenobia's saviour... with no input whatsoever on my part."

He realized then that several of the Highland Muses had indeed followed them to the edge of the cliffside and were listening intently, thinking themselves unnoticed. Debonair himself looked close to understanding, having experienced their mutual enemy's rancour for many years himself. More importantly, he knew well how frustrating the myriad scheming of a Sage could be to deal with, for his own defeat at the rebellion's hands had at least partly been caused by that.

"I resented it", he whispered as if it were a natural assumption. "When I finally learned what Warren had done to me, all that he had made me forget... I severed ties with him and Lans, believing I could rely only on myself. That, as you may have heard, proved to be my undoing in the end."

"None can blame you for it", the general insisted. "I am certain many of the other rebels desire nothing more than your return to your rightful position as Emperor, instead of merely a division leader."

"Emperor Faroda?" He gave a harsh laugh. Naturally, Debonair and his ilk were more accustomed to serving Emperors and Empresses rather than Kings and Queens or merchant lords, but the more encompassing title- for indeed he had learned the root word, _Imperator_, meaning a 'king of kings'- implied his greatest fears for the future, the vision in his nightmares. "No. I have seen now where that road leads, and even the most rabid Highlander would not like it."

He could sense Kaus' disappointment in his stance. As he had initially suspected, the Deva had been taking the long view, hoping for a war-seasoned leader he respected who could take Endora's place as the new Emperor of Zeteginea, if not any of the other kingdoms of the south. With Rauny and Debonair supporting him, it would be possible.

And despite all he had seen of that road, for the general he felt sorry, placing one hand to a shoulder pad in comfort. "I truly do apologize, Kaus. But I must restrain myself now, and be careful not to abuse my unique powers over people's hearts and minds. I dare not trust myself with more authority than a mere division leader, not until I am certain the power of the dark holds no further sway over me. 'Emperor Faroda' is an evil that makes even Rashidi look the saint. He will never come to be. You shall have to find someone else to replace Endora when the war is over."

"_If_ we are in fact victorious", the general growled in a rare show of temper, casting the arm off. "Until then we are left with a leader no man respects save for his name. _Maturne di eis Weal'hath. Mercy is Weakness_. Sentimentality such as this is what caused Zenobia to be such a soft target for my people in the first place."

Despite the man's anger, Destin could only smile lopsidedly. This was a conversation he'd had with himself before, and he knew which side had won. "The prince", he said sharply. "Must be allowed to make his mistakes, for how else is he to grow and become a worthy successor to his father? As to your people's beliefs, general, I doubt you would be so dismissive of Tristan's sentimentality if it had been _Norn_ in danger."

Kaus sniffed pompously, but he also recognized the truth being spoken. "Norn would never be so foolish as to go near an enemy stronghold alone. I suppose what is done is done. But perhaps another day, I shall tell you the tale of the Balgenia glacier, and how one man's sentimentality caused the deaths of hundreds."

"I eagerly await that tale", he answered. _Because it shall mean we both survived._

* * *

SHIGGULT, RUINED SKY CITY

Fenril did not prove difficult to find. She had torn the initial wave of ground divisions into ruin, then been forced to fall back to the connecting bridge when the bulk of their forces concentrated against her, previously aided by numerous undead and black dragons.

Now they lay pinned down in hiding at the first archway, the blue glow of multiple healing spells not quite concealing the losses they had taken- at least six Seraphim littered the bridge, divinely beautiful even in death, along with over twice that many Imperial troops. Nor was the danger over- several enemy paladin had continued the assault, but retreated the moment they sensed Destin and Debonair's groups coming, running back to the north end of the bridge.

When they were gone, Destiny's Child had time to examine the female Sky Knight more closely, sensing the exhaustion in her sunken eyes as she panted tempered by pride even greater than Lans or Debonair. Fenril still had the pearl-white Brunhild at her side- he would never forget the look of that sword. More importantly, she still had her strength.

So he was not terribly shocked or offended when a look of fury crossed her attractive features. "So Slust has betrayed us once again", she said. "Why have you come, humans? This is a matter for the heavens to decide."

Destin shrugged as if it were a mystery beyond him. "Slust asked us for help liberating the last Sky Island. We accepted."

"You are not needed here!", she thundered, standing and stalking over to them as if ready to unleash Brunhild once more. "Your kind have made enough of a mess of our homes already! I specifically warned him not to involve those from the lower world!"

"Those from the lower world", Kaus said far less cordially, "are here, whether you would permit it or not. These divisions of Imperial troops were brought here from our world by Rashidi. We owe it to your people to clean up the mess he left behind."

She slapped him. Neither leader could react in time, and after the Highland general's head swung around Destin chuckled- it was actually a good sign that Fenril could still manage that after so many days of fighting a losing battle. The idea of turning that spirit against the Imperial occupiers almost made him believe she really could handle things here without them.

"_Schiesse." _Debonair rubbed his cheek, wincing. Norn had never hit him like that. "And Tristan wished us to save these people?"

"You will destroy everything", she warned them again, turning back to her own troops. "Do as you will then, but do _not_ interfere with my mission."

"Your mission is our mission", Destin called, fully prepared for a slap of his own. None came. "Because one of our own is also being held here. Yushis."

Fenril scowled, her blue-armoured back turned to them. "The betrayer-kin. Yes, I witnessed her capture, but I had no idea she had fallen so far. Like her sister Mizal, she has been corrupted by mortals." She paused, a momentary break in the storm. "But I am sorry for being unable to save her from these wretches. She is likely dead now. You have come all this way for nothing."

"You cannot know that for certain", Destin countered, suddenly feeling as if he'd agreed to a sword duel with the Sky Knight, her heart unreadable as ever even had he wished to use his greatest power. "I should think they would keep her and interrogate her, seeking a way to restore the Chock."

"The Chock is beyond restoration", Fenril assured him. "It was destroyed millenia ago by the event that sundered this island into two fragments. But if the betrayer-kin truly means so much to you, then I promise to send her to you if she is still alive when the battle is over."

"That is not how this works. We have ten divisions here, half of them flight-capable. You have _one_ division, powerful, but weakened by battle already. They have at least four remaining." Spreading his arms wide, he pleaded with her. "We offer you our humble services, lady Fenril."

It was the Seraphim who decided it, he realized. Despite the situation, Fenril's pride and dislike of violent 'lower worlders' so common to her people would not have let her accept this badly needed aid... except for the fact that the six surviving Seraphim had all overheard their talks, and every one of those soot-faced, exhausted angels looked eager for it. And the Sky Knight's desire to protect her people from all threats always overrode any personal qualm.

It was that which made her the legendary hero chosen to hold Brunhild, he decided.

She still would not turn to face them and looked into the sky for a long time before replying in compelte vexation: "There are three enemy divisions entrenched on the north end of the connecting bridge. Griffins, wyverns, paladins, muses... and some short humans dressed in black pajamas that I do not recognize."

"Not pajamas", Gilbert corrected her, his own division of beast riders having arrived behind Debonair's. "Ninjas. Damn. Looks like Prochon's been lending out his people."

"Or else these are more mercenaries", Destin pointed out, glad to see the old soldier had made it. With Ashe no longer active, Gilbert was now the most senior division leader, though he had yet to learn Canopus' true age- the bird man guarded that secret as he did everything else. "Distance is their advantage, but they dare not use their advanced Jutsu while on the bridge itself."

"That has ever been the deciding factor in this stalemate", Fenril admitted angrily. "Neither of us wishes to risk damaging the connecting bridge. I cannot unleash my full strength during a battle there. We have tried several times but been unable to cross."

Following her hard gaze, Destin stared at the bridge. As befit the sole connector between the two halves of Shiggult, the half-baum span was reinforced by frames of wood and metal, sets of rails running along the top and bottom to prevent the gale-force winds from tearing it up. Instead it would simply sway in the breeze from time to time, a motion those on the bridge would barely notice. It was perhaps the most complex, durable bridge he had ever seen, but with the powerful spells available to both sides it would be all too easy for a stray blast to send them all plummeting.

"A diversion, then", he mused. "Fenril can make another attempt to cross, and Aisha and Rauny can reinforce her. That holds those three divisions in place. Meanwhile, the rest of us swoop around to strike at the castle."

"They shall spot us coming, and take to the air", Gilbert pointed out.

"That is why Fenril's group must have ample muscle sustaining it as well. They shall be torn between the two fronts, and their ground-bound allies will argue with the flyers. Remember, they do not have a reliable leader here to keep them organized. Fogel the Accursed is merely a mindless puppet of Rashidi."

The mention of that name stirred Fenril up in turn. "No. I must be the one to defeat Fogel. That is my duty."

"Then we change things up", Destin amended. "The flying group will be the diversion. It will be Gilbert, Debonair, and Canopus' divisions, while the rest of us storm the front."

The Sky Knight glared at him and he realized she had caught on the thing that had not changed- his personal presence there. But she also knew that any further quibbling would get them nowhere. "Agreed. I shall lead the charge, the rest of you may follow behind. Be certain not to use any magics or Spirit Techniques while on the bridge."

"Obviously", Gilbert commented, sizing up the bridge for himself now. "Destin my boy, it's occurred to me that you did not witness either of our previous battles against the Sky Knights. To break Fogel's charm, you need only destroy the beaded necklace he shall be wearing. After that, he should revert to normal."

He nodded, ignoring the piteous look on Fenril's face. "Understood, and thanks. Be careful up there- if your ride dies you shall have a great deal of time to scream on the way down."

"Such a lovely image", Kaus sighed. "We shall be cautious. Good fortune to you, gentlemen."

The wind picked up as Destin followed Fenril onto the connecting bridge with the rest of their divisions. Far off the distance, past the barricades and the fallen he could just make out a crowd of men at the other end, men who were doubtless wondering what to do now.

Naturally, the ninjas were the first to arrive. Garbed in black from head to toe as Fenril had said, they stood out among the browns and grays of their battleground as they charged, arms out and filled with shuriken and caltrops and a dozen other deadly toys Fubuki and the Daimyo had warned them about.

"Practice for Dahlmud", he murmured in a forced calm before drawing his replacement sword. This one was longer than his usual, better suited for cutting into thicker, heavy opponents like dragons or knights, but he would have to make do- he did have to confess a slightly irrational urge to impress the holder of Brunhild with how much he had improved since then.

Then the enemy broke upon them and there was no further time for such petty reflections. _Parry, thrust _and_ cut_ became his entire existence. He was barely even aware of the screams erupting around him, nor the bodies falling to the ground. The horror he had felt upon his first battle at the Sharom district had returned after being chased away by the comforts of wanton bloodlust, but it was... _tempered_, he supposed was the right word for it. There would be no time or thought wasted in regret as Warren had so often lamented, but the regret yet existed, for he could not fight someone even for five seconds without feeling a taste of the emotions buried within each doomed heart.

Beside him, Fenril was equally impressive. Brunhild seemed unstoppable as it cleaved arms and necks in a trail of white like the finger of the Death Arcana, and before he knew it they were past the first wave. Paladins were rushing them now, gold and red shields raised to prevent the flanking attacks with which they had dispatched the ninjas.

Seeing them, he stopped and crouched, inviting the others to do the same. "Go."

Leaving Fenril's Seraphim to raise their ringed staves and unleash coruscating beams of blue light nearly the entire width of the bridge. As powerful as that was, it was the only spell they could use here with impunity, for holy magic of that breed would only hurt the impure and the unjust... or the undead.

Not all the paladins were affected, but all were blinded by the flash of so many spells at once. One actually fell over the railing with a canned-sounding shriek. Blinded and disoriented, they had let their shields drop by reflex, and did not see the two dozen rebel blades coming towards them until it was too late.

_Two down. _Which left the Muses. But now that they were more than halfway across, he could see the diversion had worked- the majority of the remaining enemy had boarded their flying beasts and taken to the sky to fight Debonair, Canopus and Gilbert's divisions. Lightning spells raked the sky, but none of them came near the bridge. There was only a handful left at the final arch, most of them looking more like support than serious fighters.

All but one. The figure was even shorter than what seemed to be the average for Prochon's master assassins, but he alone seemed recognize the danger of the rebel divisions currently storming across the bridge.

And even without the special gifts he had been given, Destin knew what would happen next. "Hurry!", he shouted. "Come on, faster! We only have a short time!"

The ninja agreed. He cupped his hands, making various strange shapes with them. His mouth was moving but too far away to be properly heard yet. When they were at the final arch, and Fenril's holy blade was already flying towards the last defender, he seemed to freeze up as the last gesture finished... and smiled.

"DAMN! HURRY! HURRY OR YOU'LL DIE!"

Three orange spheres flew our from the enemy's hands, growing larger and larger the further away they went. Though Destin wasted no time looking at them further, he immediately recognized the subsequent detonation rocking the bridge as a product of the fire element.

The bridge would not burn so quickly. Not even the Termites that had eaten Allamoot and Zenobia's walls could have destroyed it fast enough to threaten the rebels, but he could see now that the three spheres had been aimed at the rails, causing roughly a third of the bridge to slant dangerously to the left, fast becoming a deadly ramp into oblivion. Before long the rest of the damage would tell, and it would become impassable.

But not before they had made it. He checked and was relieved to see everyone who had joined the charge along that bridge was still here. Aisha, Norn, Rauny, Harrison, Guildus and Mildain... and Fenril, who had just cleared her blade from the neck of the culprit. "Nice try", he spat at the fallen ninja.

"A cowardly attempt to deny us", Fenril assented in equal fury, glancing over towards their final challenge. "Your assistance is... appreciated. If she lives, you should be able to find the betrayer-kin in the castle dungeon."

"We shall look there", Destin vowed. "When this fight is done. It is not. Not yet."

For out in front of the castle gate, a full division of Imperial troops still stood at the ready. Mere skirmishers mostly, but enough to fulfil the common duty of keeping the majority of the rebels occupied while the strongest champions of both sides duelled, as was clearly their intention.

Their champion was there as well, right in the middle with none of his men daring to go near him.

Destn watched the tall figure carefully as he approached, and began to worry. Fogel the Accursed was easily the tallest of the Sky Knights and showed muscle to back up such a frame, but that was not what gave him pause.

Though Slust and Fenril had long ago been recognized as something much more than mere humans in armour, they had kept faces that were close enough to human, and doubtless had similarly mortal-seeming flesh beneath their armour, which had led to many of the rebels becoming at ease with the friendly Slust, and if not friends then at least acquaintance with the more aloof Fenril.

This one had no human face, nor any sign of angel or human flesh. His armour, a foreboding dark green scale outfit, seemed to graduate up into a full head piece that looked like the elongated head of a dragon with uniformly green eyes like crystals, long horns amplifying his height, and wicked claws and talons where hands and feet ought to be.

Even then, many of the rebels might have considered it to be a well-crafted helmet and armour and nothing more... until that vicious-looking head opened its mouth, revealing teeth that were somewhere between dragon and human.

"You dare to bring your war into this scared place?!", Fogel's hybrid jaws screamed at them, sounding even angrier than Fenril despite having a much lower voice. "You _dare_ to defy Rashidi?! DIE!"

"Not until you go back to Rashomon and get some new lines!", Aisha shot back. Inwardly though, she knew this was not her battle. Instead she would support the others as they fought the Dragon Rider's entourage, leaving the main event to their leader.

Their leader and Fenriil, who deliberately stepped between them. "Fogel, it is I! You must remember! You must break this vile charm!"

"No good", Destin claimed, eyes already searching the huge dragon-human's body, and cursing. "Gilbert said we have to break the charm by destroying the necklace... and I don't see one. I see nothing but scales."

"Yes", Fenril said reluctantly. "That is his curse, his penitence for destroying Shiggult. He shall do much worse to you if you stay here, human."

He said nothing more. There was nothing to say that would convince her to let him fight- he merely drew his blade, tightening his grip as the Dragon Rider screamed "DIE!" once more and charged them like it was the only function in his head.

The man's sword, a dark-shaded thing with jagged ends on the hilt, impacted the _Notos_.

And suddenly Destin found himself flying once more, this time without Beowulf as company. His grip on the earth beneath his feet had been swept away so quickly and easily he'd hardly even felt it- he could see two tracks of upturned earth where his traction had finally given out.

He did, however, feel a familiar breeze. A familiar breeze growing stronger as gravity began to catch up with what had just happened. "Oh."

That single word abruptly became a howl as he fell.

As breeze became hurricane wind, as jagged rocks raced past his face and pressure forced his arms and legs to spread, it slowly dawned that this could be the end. His destiny, his training, his resolve to avoid the path of the dark... it all ended here, with a single body burning like a falling star as it fell from the heavens, long dead from the fire. Become nothingness.

But a large shadow fell over him and interposed itself beneath, and he felt solid matter bracing itself against the impact of his fall. An inhuman titter reached his ears as if mocking him, and as he opened his eyes his saw black scales and spikes.

Beowulf gave an incredibly good impression of disappointment for a creature whose face was incapable of human expressions. Rather, it was the noise combined with how carelessly the Tiamat carried him, that implied its dismay.

_His_ dismay, Destin corrected himself as he sat up and retook the reins. "...Thanks."

Amusement and pride radiated from the dragon, and he gave another deafening screech as he flew across the stretch of abyss back to where Fenril and Fogel had been fighting.

Destin joined him in it, trying to put all the dryness from not having spoken or breathed for quite a while into it, along with no small amount of anger. The twin howls, treble and bass, got the two knight's attention, and he felt Beowulf's grunt of approval.

"Come, Dragon Rider", he called to Fogel even as everyone else resumed their battles. "Come and ride the skies with me!"

"You disturb the peace of this land!.", the last Sky Knight spat from his maw, nearly the size of Beowulf's own. "DIE!"

Fenril's guard could not stop him from charging past her and leaping towards them. Destin held on for a moment as his opponent lunged past, and blinked in awe. Fogel's jumping ability was nearly as preposterous as how far back his attacks could knock someone- he leaped up to Beowulf's height, then back down on solid ground without issue nearly fifty meters away from where he'd been duelling Fenril.

"Down", Destin commanded, leaning close to his ride so as not to fall off during the power dive- as strange as it seemed, he had the feeling Fogel would have better advantage in the air, and in any case he did not wish to have the abyss do his work for him.

There was annoyance from Beowulf, but he did as instructed, swooping low at high speeds with another shriek. The thing Destin had _not_ asked him to do, his breath weapon of sickly acid capable of burning through metal and scale, flew out when they were nearly thirty meters close.

Fogel seemed at a loss for a moment, then opened his maw once more. Blazing fire, turned nearly white when blended with the pristine colours of the infinite sky, blasted forth, intermingling with the acid and effectively neutralizing it everywhere but the stretch of grass leading to him that had been burned.

Flying around that conflagration, they were taken by surprise when the Sky Knight flew in from the side and embedded his sword into Beowulf's gut down to the hilt. Another horrible shriek assaulted everyone's ears, but Destin retained enough lucidity to strike back, bringing his own blade down hard and knocking it loose.

Up close he could finally make out the man's weapon, unique enough in appearance to make him pause. A dark-shaded piece of art it was, with black and violet etchings travelling down the length of the jagged steel like a thousand vipers. This was no holy sword like the Brunhild, and not as long or fancy as that hallowed edge, but he definitely sensed dark magic within it, and for a moment he wondered if Rashidi had used this to charm Fogel instead of a necklace.

Beowulf had been capsized by his injury regardless, and his list to the left sent them all tumbling. The moment he'd regained his bearing and Fogel's location, Destin raised _Notos_ once more.

"_Frost of Niflheim, shatter the passion of frozen hearts! ICECLOUD_!"

As it had with Gares, the strange ice magic that only he knew covered his large target in razor lines of blue, cracking and powerful even without the time to use the full incantation. Even the brief words he'd uttered had given Fogel time to stand up and unleash his fire breath once more, the heat dissipating much of the ice into steam.

"Flame breath", he whispered, readying himself for a more traditional fight. "Just like an adult dragon, yet you wield that blade better than any human warrior... IAINUKI!"

A spike of azure racing along the ground like a fault line, this attack could not be disrupted by a breath weapon. Instead Fogel took to the air once again, hitting twenty meters into the air before plummeting down towards Destin, unleashing more dragon's breath as he fell. This was not the fire, but instead the arctic chill commonly used by Silver and Gold dragons, a wide cloud of cold to deny Destiny's Child any way to safely dodge the falling knight.

Just as moments before, it looked impossible for him to survive. And just as before, the breeze was there, graduating much more quickly into a hurricane wind that tossed the freezing cloud aside. Rolling to avoid Fogel's descent but still rattled by the resulting shockwave, Destin saw his saviour and grinned.

"Your title is a lie, deluded one", Gilbert Oblion called from atop his griffin, its great wings still flapping hard from the gale it had just conjured. "I had believed you were named for your ability to ride dragons."

"We should not have assumed", Destin remarked, lunging into the barrage of swipes with which he'd defeated several ninja already. All were parried. "Rather, he is a hybrid. And that is not armour, but his own living scales."

"Covering up the necklace", Gilbert concluded, comprehension hitting him. "You shall have to cut them off to reach it. The enemy air divisions have retreated, by the way."

"DIE!", Fogel roared in counterpoint, spewing the ice breath again and clipping Gilbert's ride even as Destin rolled to dodge it. His retribution came in several fast lunges at the thick length of scaled around his neck, followed by an attempt to grab the dark sword's hilt once Destin was close.

Exerting just as much strength as could be expected of an adult dragon- if not more- he cast Destin aside... and took Fenril's mad lunge directly in the chest, her earlier wounds completely closed beneath her armour. White smoke rose as though Fogel himself were at least partly undead, but the struggle did not last long- by leaping again, he was able to buy time to cast the angel woman away, this time rising up and cutting the griffin's iced wing off completely.

"Away!", Destin shouted not to the falling Gilbert, but Fenril. "He's going to use thunder, fry our armour!"

He would never forget the first time that had happened. His very first second-in-command, Tally, a farm boy from Sharom, had mistakenly believed that his thick ancestral armour would protect him from Kapella Radigan's various spells during their battle in Pogrom Forest. He had been correct until the old mage had used a lightning spell, channelling and blasting the old metal apart from inside along with its wearer.

They were both tougher than that poor lad now. But the lightning breath raining down was several times more powerful than Kapella's spells, further ravaging the land around them and causing several trees and ruins to burst into flame.

Emerging from his cover, Destin saw no sign of Fenril, just Fogel landing close to Beowulf to try and finish what he'd started. Not enough. Every time we get a fix on him he just jumps out of harm's way. Have to find some way to hold him in place... "IAINUKI!"

Sure enough, the vitality-fuelled strike coming towards him prompted Fogel to leap again. Directly into the figure falling down towards him. Fenril, who while not as agile as her fellow Sky Knight, was still able to leap many meters into the air and come down with crushing force. Her boots impacted the man's helmet and both descended back to the ground, Fogel's hide taking the brunt of the shockwave along with Fenril's own version of the Ianuki- a glowing blast looking like a miniature dragon.

By the time he'd run up to them, Destin saw she'd been listening, had been directing her sword towards her comrade's front chest piece where a necklace would normally hang.

For a moment he thought he saw a glimmer of white, but that might have merely been the first light of the next blast of lightning breath emitting from the man's mouth, this time blasting Fenril off her feet with a direct hit. He could hear the lingering noises, the awful crackling that meant the lightning had channelled through Fenril's blue armour, electrifying her directly and leaving her writhing on the ground in pain next to Fogel.

Raising his sword, he grunted in pain- his own injuries were beginning to stack up quickly. Consciousness suddenly became a slippery thing to hold on to, though he could still see Fogel making another charge, this time at him.

"ICEFIELD!"

The charge slowed, and Destin stepped back, fearing a spell the size of his own Icecloud. This one looked much smaller scale however, a mere pyx compared to the frigid death his own magic was capable of.

But in this case, it was enough. A sphere of shimmering blue engulfing Fogel big enough for only one, distilling the air around him and weaving sheets of frost across his scales, particularly along the handful of spots where Fenril's sword had been cutting, freezing the small amount of blood shed even as the Dragon Rider brought one claw up to the wounds, trying to alleviate what had to be too much pain even for a charmed knight to fully ignore.

Gilbert lowered his sword, and nodded to his leader. "That is the best I have, lad. Up to you now!"

"I... and Beowulf", Destin corrected, gesturing for the dragon to strike from behind not with his breath, but the long bipedal claws. Come now. Let this work. Fire, ice, lightning, and then...

He was correct. Turning to face the new threat, Fogel spat an acid cloud nearly identical to Beowulf's own, splashing over the creature's hide, hissing and boiling and otherwise doing very little to a hide long adapted to its own breath weapon.

"Yes! Keep going!", he shouted, so elated he'd forgotten he wasn't speaking to a human. "He's going to use acid breath a second time! Bite him! Get those plates off him!"

Beowulf obliged, flexible neck descending to bite into the bleeding spots and gumming them with poison. Fogel's sword bit deep once more, but a blue glow suddenly covered the Tiamat and the pain subsided enough to resume gnashing at the chest scales. "Go!", Aisha cheered to them, her old protectors at her back to prevent the remaining enemy from interfering with her healing. "Get him!"

Finally, the Dragon Rider resorted to his most impressive ability, leaping back into the air and only slightly hampered by having a 500-pound dragon persistently clinging to him. When the predicted acid blast failed to do anything at all, Fogel merely grabbed him and pressed both boots to the chest, kicking off and sending himself flying back towards the courtyard of his castle.

Cursing, Destin ran to catch up with him, but stopped when he saw a familiar white glimmer in Beowulf's jaws. Then, before anyone could react, the Tiamat bit down.

The shattering noise seemed to fill the world and signal the end of all the fighting, even if it only truly affected one man. Seeing their leader fall, the rest of the Imperials backed down... and did something Destin had never seen them do before- they removed their red valkyrie cuffs, tossed them to the scorched grass, threw down their weapons and raised their hands in surrender.

"Curious", was all he could think to say, touching his own blue cuff to make sure it had not fallen off. "Gilbert?"

"They were abandoned", the older man pointed out wearily. "As we predicted, they have no Highlander leader or traitorous Zenobian governor to keep them focused. They have no flight capabilities left. Normally they would simply retreat, but..." He spread his arms along the horizon of the flying island and chuckled. "Another miracle."

The highest-ranking member of the Imperial divisions was a paladin who had lost his helmet, revealing strangely vibrant spiky red hair underneath, though he looked pale enough to be a pure-blood Highlander. He came before Destin and the rest of the rebel leaders, looking wary and resigned, speaking Zenobian in the same clipped accent as Debonair. "Chaos Bringer. I suppose you shall kill us now? Sacrifice us to the Twenty-Two?"

He was not surprised by that bleak suggestion- everyone knew that the Zeteginean Empire had painted all the rebels as dangerous anarchists who would leave the lands of the south open to conquest by the far larger Empire of Lodis, and him especially. "You could sacrifice yourselves to Freya by leaping from this cliff", he offered bluntly.

The redhead looked insulted. "Freya is a Goddess of warriors. Only those who have fought well shall earn a place in her halls."

"For now, there shall be no more fighting for you", the rebel leader maintained. "Sit out the rest imprisoned, and wait for the chance to redeem yourselves in a battle worth fighting. Only then shall you join Freya in her hall."

He beckoned Harrison, the latest second-in-command of his own division who had led the proficient group in his absence, over with the rest of them. "Take their weapons and armour and add them to the armoury. Lock them in the castle dungeons. We shall decide their future later."

The young knight obeyed, and Aisha seized the opportunity to run up beside him as they marched the short distance over to where Fenril and Fogel lay. The former was cradling the latter's body, trying to coax some hint of life from his dark green hybrid body and whispering tearfully in a language Destin did not know.

When they reached the courtyard, the Sky Knight finally stirred, rising and blinking with clear, animalistic eyes that nonetheless contained something equal or better than human intellect.

"Rashidi", Fogel scowled, and all present could feel his hatred. "The coward. I shall tear his heart from his chest!"

"Later, perhaps", Destin assured him, extending a mailed hand. "I am general Faroda, leader of the 4th division of the Zenobian Revolution, pleased to meet you."

"I know who you are", the dragon's maw snarled. "More humans come to defile the heavens as they have the world below."

Satisfied with the awkward silence he'd made with those words, he turned to Fenril next. "You should not have done it, Fenril. Allying yourself with these mongrels is a crime the Gods shall not easily forgive."

"Then I shall be damned alongside Slust", Fenril agreed sadly. "And yourself, my friend. I can imagine far worse fates, such as being subject to that ridiculous charm."

The dragon slits widened at that news, and his claws tightened into fists. "Both of you as well? He shall pay. All of his kind shall pay."

Destin felt a brief impulse to make a jest about the rebels' Goth stores, but stifled it. Fogel did not seem the type to understand or enjoy such things. Suffering clouded those dark green eyes, only compounded by the recent experience as an unwilling slave.

"Rashidi is our enemy as well", he pointed out, looking into Fenril's more human eyes in hope. "The reason he invaded the Sky Islands, besides conscripting the three of you, was to take the Zodiac Stones you were guarding."

"Yes. The 'Diamond' stone is gone", Fogel conceded, sounding calmer and more rational, though a beast's guttural still accompanied his words as it always would. "But in my anger, I forget my place. Much as I might wish to, I cannot leave this island- it is my prison."

"Why?", Aisha asked. "I know you guys don't like leaving your homes unguarded, but this is really serious! We need every person we can get!"

"Child", Fenril said, as though that was all the reproach needed. "Fogel is cursed by the Gods for his crime. He is the one who destroyed Shiggult. We do not cast off our punishments merely because they are inconvenient to us, unlike some I might name."

"Yushis", Destin reminded them. "She is alive? Well?"

* * *

MUSPELM

He had thought he would be bored, waiting like this while his comrades fought. Indeed that thought was never far from his mind, and had he been on good terms with his hosts he might have demanded status updates frequently enough to alienate them anyway.

But he had also not expected the child to be such an amusing diversion. Lans Hamilton had certainly spent time around children before. Other people's children, who were constantly screaming or crying for food and drink or something only they knew. They were always such messy, noisy little creatures, and looking back through old encrusted memories he had to confess he had not felt the same enthusiasm about Laura Hamilton's coming baby as she had.

Thus he had felt all the more guilty when his dear Laura, along with the newly budding life within her, had been snuffed out by Imperial butchers. He had been away visiting friends, trying to drum up support for the first rebellion as usual, when word came around of another seemingly random execution.

A male knight captain had done it, a Highlander serving under Deva General Cale Previa as they searched Sharom for those knights who had not yet pledged allegiance to the new puppet governor of Zenobia, Darien's predecessor. A handsome lad Lans' own age at the time, but more clever and far more cruel. He had hidden the body out behind the stables, and left the head against the pillows of the couples' bed, looking peaceful as though Laura were merely sleeping. A clear message to the young Zenobian captain who kept trying to stir his people into revolution.

After two years of searching he had eventually found that handsome captain and made his death equally horrible. A gruesome exchange, and one far too common in the early days of the occupation. And it had not brought his Laura back, or their child.

He had removed his gauntlets and helmet to hold Lancelot the younger with hands of warm flesh instead of blue metal, and he seemed to like that better. This one was far better behaved than the ones he was used to, only crying when touched by metal or anything else cold, or needing to be changed. He accepted mashed food without incident. The baby's eyes, circular and innocent, had only thrown him off a moment when they had suddenly changed from blue to green as Lancelot the younger giggled. Now they were blue again, and they had been hazel hours before. He refused to let that uncomfortable reminder stop him from appreciating the child, nor this brief respite from war his prince had granted him, merely wondering if the child would later demonstrate the same uncanny gift with magic as his biological father.

_A strong hand shall be required to ensure he does not follow in those footsteps, _he mused worriedly. _Sadly, there is none here._

He was tired. So tired. War had become his life. His time here had only reinforced the notion that no matter how much vacation he was given, never again could he feel fully rested. He had fought for too long, spent too many nights hiding from Imperials while also mustering convincing words for whomever he would speak to next about rebellion. While he figured Ashe to have a far worse case of the condition, one that had now taken him from the battlefield, he could feel the permanent weariness himself now, an invisible weight following him wherever he went. Stopping to rest had forced him to acknowledge its existence.

_And unlike sir Ashe, I live on borrowed time. In truth, I am already slain by General Luvalon. When my task is carried out, I shall be returned here, never again to return to the world of mortals._

Convenient for the child, and for Yushis. The only one who would have a problem with that arrangement was himself. Or more accurately, his honour.

_Laura... Laura, please. I must know. Am I forgiven? Is this to be my fate?_

The child licked his ear and he laughed at the tickle. For a moment, his namesake could bring him peace.

* * *

PLINSPORT

When the dove fluttered up to his window again, Saradin Carm was almost glad for a break in the boredom. Sitting here alone at night had long since exhausted his creative means of passing the time, and however fierce his new golems were they were never good conversation material. He resolved to change that in his next batch.

He had been alone for too long, he had realized. Even if his mind had barely been aware of his imprisonment, some shred of consciousness had continued to exist within that motionless statue for years, allowing him to feel it whenever someone leaned on him, or a despondent child kicked him, or a passing bird pooped on him, made a nest on his head... and he could do nothing about any of it, because he could not move. That frustration lent haste to his movements as he left the rebels' makeshift hideout and followed the dove down the main street past the harbour, and into an offshoot alley where no one would bother them at this late hour.

The sound of mad shouting and crashing glass made him wince. No one of importance, he should say.

"Rise and shine, _Veueglr", _the dove announced from its perch in a strangely radiating voice. "For we have much to discuss."

"Master Rashidi", Saradin acknowledged with a bow. "I'm afraid I cannot say it is a pleasure to see you again. You know my oaths."

The sage of Light did not sound dismayed, continuing to speak through the bird he had enchanted. "Then I shall simply have to be pleased enough for the both of us. And believe me, I am. You have shown so much promise even in the short time you've travelled with the rebels, _Veueglr. _I swear upon all honour that I had nothing to do with that petrification curse that _Eofhohs _placed upon you. It was jealousy between students, nothing more."

"Albeleo said as much", Saradin Carm agreed. "But then he would, if you had instructed him to. Why did you not save me from the curse, master? Surely, with all your power, it would not be a difficult task?"

"I would have", the sage said, "but _Eofhohs_, as you well know, is very clever when it comes to hiding his hand in acts of treachery. I was busy at the time of the incident, and he told me that you had been engaged with a clan of fire giants while trying to save your people. Because I could no longer sense your magical energy, and because every town in your nation already had a statue of you in it's square..."

"You believed I was dead. That is where you are trying to lead me."

There was a pause, and Saradin imagined his old teacher stroking that long dark blue beard in contemplation of what to say next, those rainbow-coloured eyes shifting, narrowing as they plotted. "I do not 'lead', my apprentice. I speak only the truth, for whom else in the world is more honest than Rashidi? Excepting, possibly, yourself Truthsayer. Why would I waste my efforts trying to deceive _you_, the one person with which such would be impossible? Not very many rulers have been well-loved enough to have multiple statues built of them without them forcing it, I must say."

Saradin's own words were no less thought out, though far more accusing. "I built my kingdom of Balmorra on the principles of honesty, hard work, and integrity. Then _you_ allowed _Eofhohs_ to take the reins and turn it into his own private golem manufactory."

"Yes, I confess to not paying much attention to whatever changes he might have made", the dove said dismissively. "I am a busy man. I always have been, for my dream is not one that allows one much time for rest, ironic as that may be. Even now I have busied myself with organizing the Imperial army into a strong defensive setup around our remaining holdings in Zeteginea and Deneuve. With the Empress Endora taken ill and Overlord Hikash missing in action, whom else could they turn to?"

"Incredible", Saradin said, genuinely amazed. "Not one single lie told so far, unless you've developed some way of deceiving even my Truthsense. You truly _do_ seek the restoration of the old Gods, don't you?"

"With my every waking breath, apprentice", the sage's voice assured him smoothly. "Which is why I contacted you yesterday. It seems that the rebels have somehow blundered their way into finding several of the Zodiac stones I had not yet discovered. I am here to take them, so that I may complete my collection and learn the spells required to summon the Gods. And you, like dear Emily, have now reached the end of your usefulness embedded in the rebel army. You shall come with me _Veueglr_, and together we shall complete the greatest magical ritual the world will ever know, as is our destiny."

"I sense a lie", Saradin answered with practised ease, rapping his staff on the floor in defiance. "That is something I shall not be doing, _master_."

When he replied, Rashidi's dove sounded disappointed, but also concerned. "Damn. Now look what you've done. Now I'll make you a liar, which may well destroy your precious gift that not even I possess. I do apologize if that is the case, but this is even more important... _Veueglr. _Saradin Carm, would you kindly show me where the rebels have hidden their Zodiac Stones in this town?"

Everything seemed to stop for him. He could no longer feel the breeze of the sea, nor the waft from the pubs or the calm of the evening and all its nocturnal creatures. Nor even his own hands, for it was though they had frozen up around his staff, clutching it in a death grip.

All he could do... was nod.

And his old master somehow saw this tiny inclination as well, or else merely assumed his trick had worked. "And would you kindly tell your iron golems to stand down? They could not stop me, but time is of the essence and I'd rather not cause a disturbance."

Nod.

"Very good, my _Veueglr_. Would you kindly head there, then?"

Nod. Step. Step. Step. He could not stop walking, could not stop moving slowly towards the wine cellar where he knew the stones were being kept. Just as before, he was a prisoner within his own body.

Just as before, he could only silently scream, and in his mind bewail the fate that had brought him to this.

* * *

A/N: Phew! Long chapter, and it was going to be even longer before I decided to split it in two, but I do like the cliffhanger. Hopefully I'm not getting too predictable now, giving scenes to characters who will play a major role in the battle of the day.


	29. The Dragon Rider

The** Dragon Rider**

* * *

_''Rijaani. That is what they call us. 'Half-breeds', our very existence a disgrace to the divine form which we were born. Yulie shall never comprehend this, the reason for this bitterness stretching back across centuries, but I do. _

_In order to give birth to the first bird man, an angel was required to mate with a human. In order to meet a human, that angel must have violated the laws of their people and descended to Earth, the world below them, as foul to them as Antanjyl is to mortals._

_To acknowledge us is to acknowledge a serious crime unpunished, an old shame. Worse, it is the acknowledgement that the Earth might yet have some appeal to their people._

_Regardless, as the leader of my clan I shall do all I can to successfully integrate us, as is my sworn duty. Gods willing one day, many years from now, 'Rijaani' shall be not a mark of shame, but a token of pride.'_

_-Canopus Walf, Wind Rider and Eagle Clan Leader_

* * *

MUSPELM

After all the strained waiting, Destin felt no need to tease his brother with drama. He simply hauled open the doors to Slust's castle, and allowed the angel Yushis to step forward.

Days of imprisonment much like Debonair had endured at Shangrila showed on her wings and skin in the form of numerous bruises and stains of something he had no wish to ask about, particularly noticeable in her white hair and feathers. At some point one of the ninjas had been choking her to try and get the information they needed, and her throat was still an angry red that pained her to speak in anything above a whisper. Her pace, previously so sluggish that Gilbert had volunteered to carry her back across to Muspelm, quickened the moment she stepped into the main hall.

Slust the Red greeted them there, his brown-skinned face beaming. "Excellent. You guys did it! I _knew_ you were the right people for this."

"Just as I should have known you would turn to them", a stern voice cut him off. Fenril of Ice, her arm position and face both the same- cross.

The other Sky Knight immediately paled, rubbing the back of his head furiously. "Uh, haha, well. Hi, Fenny! Glad to see you made it! Guess you're in the mood for some... er, private time?"

She stalked over to him like the Thirteenth and Destin braced himself to see another hard slap. Her blue-mailed arm rose... and halted itself, instead clapping itself to Slust's red shoulder pad. "You did well, considering the circumstances. Much as I am loathe to admit it, alone I could not have subdued our dear fallen comrade Fogel. I most likely would have had to resort to... extreme measures to defeat him."

Everyone returning from the battle now piled into the hall could sense his relief and breathed out, even as he had come fully expecting a great deal of verbal or physical abuse from Fenril for his transgressions, if not both. "So Fogel lived too", he noted calmly. "I saw the bad guys running."

"Their fliers", Fenril agreed nonchalantly. "Yet over half of them were unable to escape our fury. Now they are all locked up in Shiguld, wherein they shall await Fogel's judgement."

Slust shuddered for the unknown Imperials. "I guess it's what they deserve", he admitted sheepishly. "If everyone made it back okay, I wouldn't really mind all those guys escaping."

"Eight Seraphim down", Fenril reminded him sharply, this outburst of compassion for one's enemy too much even for the softer side she had chosen to display. "Slain. Eternal lives brought to an end by verminous mortals who thought to violate the heavens due to the Betrayer."

"No longer", Destin assured her in equal temper, coming to Slust's aid. "I doubt very much that Rashidi and Endora shall launch another attack on your homes given the current situation in our world- for one thing, all of the Chaos Gates are now in our possession. But if that should happen, please do not hesitate to call upon us again. As our prince Tristan would say, you both one of us."

"We shall", Fenril agreed, surprising everyone further with the lack of insult or indignation, merely touching the hilt of her weapon. "Though I intend to use Brunhild to lock the Chaos Gates after you have all returned to Earth, recent events have proven beyond all doubt that we three alone can no longer protect the heavens from the forces of evil which are at work in the mortal world."

For the first time, she looked pained, grieved to be forced into such an admission that she and her two comrades were somehow... inferior. "The tide of darkness rises, consuming the Earth, surging high enough now to reach us here in the heavens. We were defeated and enslaved, and far worse could have come to pass had your people not come to our aid."

"So", Slust asked, mixed comprehension and hope dawning. "So, I'm _not _getting punished? Who are you and what did you do with Fenny? Did someone put another charm necklace on her or something?"

"Do not even joke", she threatened, reverting back to her usual sternness, then gestured to the door. "Fogel awaits you. If it is penitence that you seek Slust, then he shall be quite willing to assist you."

"Oh _man_", the red knight facepalmed. Regardless, he proceeded out the gate by which the rebels had entered, shaking hands with or at least waving to every single one of them as he passed.

Nor did the reunions end there. While Destin would later hear tell of Slust giving a whoop of joy and doing a dance on his hall's long table later on when Fenril and Fogel could not see him disgrace the Sky Knights, Yushis and Lans' happiness was not so camouflaged. The knight captain merely set his namesake down gently in the cradle, and hugged Yushis with all of his considerable might, and the gesture was reciprocated despite her wounds.

"I had believed you were lost", he whispered graciously. "The Empire always destroys that which I love, always... but you yet live. Twenty-Two be praised."

"I had to", Yushis assured him in equal pleasantry, wrapping her wings around him as well. "No one else would take proper care of my nephew... although it looks like I might have been wrong in that." Drawing back, she blew him a kiss. "One person. One person who belongs up here anyway."

Ever cautious, Lans had been wearing his helmet with the visor up, and now lowered it to hide his blush. "The child is... ever intriguing, miss Yushis. I do believe he shall be most happy here, growing up among his own kind."

"We'll see", the Cherubim said hesitantly, wasting no more time in turning equal attention to the child in question and quickly descending into baby talk.

"You looked good there, brother", Destin remarked to Lans in the same jesting tone as before. "He seems to like you an awful lot."

"T'is a serene child, save when hungry", the older man countered, donning the blue mail gauntlets once more, and consequently the stiffness and formality Fenril had duplicated. "I trust all went according to plan, sir Destin?"

"Everything", he agreed, pulling him into a second embrace. "Well, their fliers got away, but Yushis and Fogel both lived through it and all we lost was one Griffin and one Dragon- everyone else was injured but saveable. They were demoralized and hungry, without a real leader. Easy pickings, for the most part."

"Indeed", Lans sounded amused. "T'would seem despite all your ordeals and limitations, your prowess remains as great as ever, sir Destin. Whatever else you might have encountered there, a Sky Knight is no mean feat."

Heading back out into the grand hall, Destin raised his hands in protest. "Hey. Don't you start asking me to become a ruler too. I had loads of help with that. Miss Fenril was _amazing_ to fight beside, and Gilbert-"

He cut off, realizing that they'd just walked directly into a conversation between Gilbert and Canopus, whom had both froze at the mention of the former's name. Before he'd been too distant to see, but this was the first time he'd noticed how long the governor's dusty gray hair was hanging- he'd been letting it grow out for quite some time, possibly since his defeat a year ago. Coupled with the dragon master's regal armour and sword he had replaced his beast-hide tunic and whip with, Gilbert was almost unrecognizable.

"-Gilbert was even better", he finished with a wink. "And Beowulf's performance can be attributed to him as well."

"You flatter me, my boy", the governor of Sharom chuckled, stuffing a bit of Slust's food into his mouth and grimacing at the blandness of it. "Though it _is_ nice that someone noticed. Yes, I have been training in my off-time with Canopus. Can't just be the beast tamer all the time, now can I?"

"A worthy role, sir Oblion", Lans pointed out with a nod to Canopus. The Wind Rider always seemed discomfited being on a Sky Island, but here his own support outweighed that- he was as close a friend to Gilbert as Lans was to Destin. "Without a good gamekeeper, we would be well crippled. No kingdom has ever gone without one."

"One kingdom", Canopus shrugged his forest-red wings. "Dahlmud desert. But the beasts there defy taming."

"Ah! Sounds like a challenge", Gilbert remarked excitedly. Excitedly for his standards, at least. "Mayhap Dahlmud's markets shall have better food than this tasteless pulp."

"You shall find out in two weeks", Destin promised him. "Tristan's talking with the Daimyos now. They shall wait for us no longer. In two weeks and some-odd days, High Shogun Prochon shall die."

"Looking forward to it", the Wind Rider said darkly, eyes hardening into something closer to Fogel's feral gaze. "Three of my clan were caught and captured during their reconnaissance flights over the desert. There has been no sign of them."

"I am sorry", Destin said truthfully. "Somehow, now that we've gained the edge on Zeteginea, any deaths just seem like a bigger waste than ever. But I somehow doubt this conflict shall end without a great deal more bloodshed on both sides."

"Not unless m'lord Tristan's peace talks actually succeed", Lans scoffed at the very possibility, along with their prince's naivete. "I fear the worst yet lies ahead. Half of the Imperial army yet remains, fortified in their homeland."

_Half_, Destin thought wistfully to himself, looking around vacantly at all the rebel leaders and their accompanying divisions as the comrades talked among themselves and ate and drank and partied in celebration of a well-earned victory, even if it had not been as difficult as Allamoot. _It cost us half our people just to get this close to Zeteginea. Meaning it is likely we shall lose another half to put a final end to the Empire's evil. Whom shall die? Whom shall I lose?_

All of a sudden, the prince's peace proposal made a great deal more sense to him, and for the first time he genuinely hoped it would succeed.

Then he remembered the last time he had met Rashidi, seen the madness in those eyes, and he sighed. No. Not in this lifetime.

* * *

PLINSPORT

"Did you do this to _Eofhohs?_", Saradin asked acidly. Talking was the only freedom left to him, though he was forbidden from shouting to any of the townsfolk, alerting them that his will was no longer his own.

"Indeed, _Veueglr_", his master's voice spoke from everywhere, the dove's he had spoken through long gone but his mighty presence remaining. "Unfortunately, golems are immune to it. After he first transferred his soul to his new body, I knew he had slipped free of my control, and so required a tighter rein."

"Yet he slipped through your fingers", the wizard taunted, desperate for anything that might distract Rashidi a moment longer. How long had Destin and the others been gone for? A day? When would they return? "He lives still, and you do not know where."

"Albeleo", Rashidi said, using the man's birth name in condemnation, "has only three real goals. Eternal life, eternal beauty, and eternal scientific achievement. He cares absolutely nothing for rulership or the restoration of the old Gods as we do. Freed to wander the outside world without my interference, I would assume his first task shall be creating a new golem body even more attractive to women than the last one was, so that he might attract even more unwitting whores to his bedside. Anatomically correct, of course."

"Many thanks for _that_", Saradim hissed at the voice in his head, wishing he could raise just one hand and knock the image right out of his mind... and keep on hitting until he lost consciousness, so that he could not betray the rebellion. He could not. Rashidi had forbidden it.

"My apologies, _Veuelgr_. Would kindly deal with that?"

He had come to the blue iron golem assigned to guarding the house where the Zodiac stones were hidden. In fact the creature guarded the entire neighbourhood, so as not to reveal the location easily with its presence. "I command you to stand down", Saradin choked out, cursing his own tongue.

The shining rock creature looked quizzically at him for a moment then obeyed, slowly lumbering aside so that he could take out his key and open the door. _No, no, no, no..._

Down in the cellar, three full green wooden racks covered three separate walls save for the one with the entryway's arch. It was a wide space for a cellar, and a lack of dripping or mold indicated good maintenance even if a coat of dust over everything was inevitable. If only one of the house's occupants had been down here tonight, instead of sleeping...!

"Would you kindly tell me where the stones have been hidden?"

This was not a mental voice, as before. This was actually reaching his ears, and sure enough as he turned around, he saw the signature bright orange amour and dark blue beard and rainbow eyes of the Sage of Light, standing in the doorway behind him. Here, in the heart of the town the rebels had chosen to make their temporary headquarters.

Despite his oaths, despite being known as one of the most compassionate rebels, Saradin wanted nothing more than to run over and gut the man, then light a fireball in his rib cage.

Instead, he pointed over to the left wine rack. "The Aqua stone is hidden behind the third bottle from the left on the middle row. The Opal is behind the fifth bottle from the left on the bottom row. The Emerald is in the right rack, the second bottle from the left on the top row."

"Good, good", his old master nodded appreciatively, making gestures and sliding the designated bottles out of their holes. Slowly, so that they would not shatter. "And Ruby and Pearl? I know you took the Ruby back from that fool Baron Apros."

Saradin said nothing, merely glaring. Rashidi sighed, exasperated.

"Oh, if you insist, but really you are only making things worse for yourself, _Veueglr. _Where else can you possibly go when our work here is done, but back into _my_ employ? Would you kindly tell me where the Ruby and Pearl stones are hidden?"

Fighting his own arm all the way, Saradin pointed again. "It is beneath the middle wine rack, a hidden storage locker buried in the floor. The owners of this place once used it to smuggle treasure across the border to Malano. It requires a key to open."

"No it doesn't", Rashidi corrected. He gestured, and the middle rack slid aside with a dull rattle. Another gesture, and a square piece of tile popped up and away to reveal the hidden cavity in the floor, and the blood red stone nestled within, a perfect fit. "Pearl?"

Here his resistance was the greatest of all. Saradin's entire body trembled under the strain and he felt a terrible headache coming on... but the Sage's word was still absolute. All he could do was waste a small amount of time, but he still clamped down his jaw, biting into it, trying again and again to move just a few muscles in his mouth so that the words would become garbled, spitting to clog up his throat in vain. "The Pearl is gah... the Pearl isnghh... in..."

"The Pearl is buried deep within my nether regions", a new, clear voice called out to them. From behind the left rack, Warren Moon emerged, oak staff in hand. "Perhaps you would care to check?"

Rashidi's eyes flickered from green to gold as he turned and beheld his fellow Sage. Despite initial shock, he smiled. "Ah, my friend. I might have known you would never trust the keeping of such precious items to mere livestock. Unfortunately, all you've done here is force your death at long last."

"Kill me", Warren claimed in a remarkable bored and unconcerned tone considering the situation, "and my bowels shall suck the Pearl stone further into my body by reflex action."

Saradin might have laughed at this, but was still under orders. "Most amusing", the other sage noted with just a hint of impatience. "I could easily kill you myself of course, for whom is more skilled than Rashidi? Yet I feel that _Veueglr_ requires further education on whom his true master is. Saradin Carm..._ would you kindly_ kill this miscreant for me?"

The fear in the Truthsayer's eyes shone through all conditioning. This was it. Nothing in the world could stop him from raising his staff and casting his spells now, nothing could stop him from overpowering Warren, always the lesser magician compared to himself, and burning him to naught but ash. Nothing-

"Saradin, be unkind."

There was a tone in his mind not unlike the sensation Truthsense gave when a falsehood was spoken, and he stopped. His robed arms slackened, for there was no longer an invisible power forcing them to move and serve the will of another. Testing it further, he took a step forward that he had not been commanded to do... and smiled wolfishly.

"No, master. No, I shall not."

Relief flooded his being, and gratitude to the man who had made it possible. At the same time, he felt waves of intense shock coming off Rashidi. It was nearly as welcome a sensation as the relief.

"Hm. Well done, old friend. It would seem Tarot readings are not your sole forte."

"We are _not_ friends", Warren spat on the floor, his earlier boredom gone. "The moment that you betrayed the throne of Zenobia and the council, our friendship was as dead as King Gran Zenobia."

"Sad but true", Rashidi confessed, and raised his arms to the ceiling. "Either way, you've done _Veueglr_ a great disservice. Both of you shall now have to die here tonight, and I shall regret both."

"Yes, tonight", Warren slowly nodded. "The only time of day when that fool behind you might be of any use."

Now those rainbow eyes shifted to a near-perfect white, and a wry disdain. "Please. That trick is older than I-"

What seemed to be a ball composed of nothing but claws and fangs and raw ferocity slammed into him from behind, nearly knocking him over. A few mumbled words blasted whatever it was away with a gust of wind that rattled the racks and shattered a great many bottles, and after blunting Saradin's attempt to sneak attack him with a fireball, he could see the new arrival.

A werewolf. A bipedal creature still wearing the armament of a Zenobian soldier, covered head-to-toe in gray fur and fanged mouth salivating at the chance to bite Rashidi again.

"This is Tomas ap Neralai", Warren introduced the creature, speaking for him since in that form he had not yet taught himself to be able to form words, preferring instead to focus on combat. "Former Zenobian knight, now a night predator more deadly than that idiotic bandit who once governed Lake Janneia. He seems to like your taste."

"IAINUKI!"

Ever agile, the sage leaped away the moment he heard the word shouted, the blast of spirit energy sizzling across the floor and destroying the right rack, sending the Emerald stone rolling across the floor. A second one flew across his shoulder, leaving a neat mark along the padding.

"In my home country", Fubuki announced, grim accented voice echoing from behind his mask, his katana already charging a third _Ianuki_, the stronger one that only masters could use_,_ "oathbreakers are strung up and deprived of that mighty organ directly between their legs with a knife while they are awake. They remain there, tied upside-down for many days and nights, until their life's blood has finally left them and they are allowed the mercy of oblivion. Perhaps we shall follow the local traditions this time?"

No longer offering banter of any sort, the sage conjured an icicle the size of dragon and launched it. An equally massive pumpkin shot out and crashed into it, scattering ice shards and orange goop everywhere to Warren's disgust.

"Hah! Knew it!", Deneb the witch called from her hiding place behind a shelf. "I _knew_ things would get interesting down here once Destin left! Hah! Pay up, beardo! 2,000 Goth!"

"Later, harlot", Warren muttered back at her. Regaining his composure as several other rebels filed into the cellar, he looked at Rashidi dead on, preparing his staff to conjure a barrage of less-powerful fireballs while Saradin prepared lightning. "We knew that you would have to make a try for the stones at some point. Now that it's become clear that you cannot stop us through force of arms, you resort to the old standbys of secrecy and betrayal, the weapons which brought down the kingdom of Zenobia that you swore your oaths of service to."

"Too bad", Deneb echoed beside him in absolute smugness. "We won't get fooled again."

"Yes indeed", Saradin agreed vehemently. "Whatever it is you did Warren, it seems to have worked."

The Sage of Light took all of this in silently, his eyes rapidly shifting in colour as he looked from one of them to the next and the next, his growing wrath slowly breaking through the mask of calmness that he had worn to every other encounter he'd had with the rebels.

Though it was not entirely visible yet, they all could make out something else behind those paranormal rainbows that did not wish to remain and fight yet dreaded to leave, arrogance grinding against an instinct for self-preservation as strong and unyielding as the mountain stone. Pride and hate were conquering him.

Hearing a clatter of footsteps from upstairs and seeing over a dozen weapons and spells pointed at him, their enemy heaved a world-weary sigh and stroked his beard, his voice gradually growing in volume as looked each of his opponent in the eyes.

"It is..._ quaint,_ how you rebels all believe that you are the heroes of this amusing little game we've been playing... but that would be _me_. _ I _am the hero here. THIS is _MY_ story, the story of how one lone hero worked his miracles to restore the Gods to a world that had shamefully forgotten them, regardless of how many hundreds of thousands of blind, **pathetic**, hopeless, _brainless_,_**SHITSTAIN**_ _**IMBECILES**__ STOOD IN HIS WAY_! _DORMEE!_"

The pressure that gripped them was all too familiar, invisible crushing force driving them ever downward like the world's strongest waterfall. Fubuki saw Warren go down over his shoulder, his body unable to take the strain. He closed his eyes tight and braced himself hard until he'd stopped descending.

And breathed out. Yes, it was as he'd hoped. The spell that had brought Destin to his knees nearly a year prior now merely slowed most of them. All that training, all the special equipment they'd procured, the way their determination not to let their comrades down with weakness had grown with every victory, had not been in vain.

Saradin was already chanting, focusing his magical power into a great spike of ice that his master swiftly dodged, demolishing the wall behind him. "_Uevloho!_", he cried, not slowing over the unfamiliar arcane word for the sage. "You are my master no longer! Disappear, and NEVER come here again!"

Fubuki's enhanced Ianuki was next, and though Rashidi raised a hand to dispel it with a blast of lightning the look on his face spoke volumes. "_DORMEE! Kneel before your superior!"_

It was much stronger this time. Everyone's legs bent a little more and Fubuki could feel his bones protesting the pressure he was exerting to stay upright. The familiar sensation of healing magic from rebel Monks helped him back up, and Tomas did not seem to mind at all- he sailed towards their enemy, claws ripping and tearing until a lightning bolt sent him flying back.

Rashidi's other hand was already occupied with casting Deneb away on a gale force wind, leaving him open to a barrage of massive pumpkins from her big-headed 'soldiers'.

The detonations did not do as much as hoped, only distracted the sage for a moment, the mere strangeness of the attack a greater shock than the pain he felt when they slammed into orange dragonscale. But that was all that was required- Saradin was back up and chanting another spell, Warren quickly unleashing smaller fireballs as additional distraction.

And the sword of blinding white light that nearly took Fubuki's head off as it crossed the cellar from the doorway to strike Rashidi in the chest. Lans stood at the bottom of the stairs, his sword pointed at the sage's heart. Gilbert and Yushis stood behind him.

The sage took an involuntary step back, and Warren laughed. "Not so confident now? But for shame, 'friend'! You come all this way to steal our Zodiac stones and retake Saradin, and you don't even bother to visit your son!"

"I have had many sons and daughters", Rashidi scowled, brushing the last of the pumpkin guts off his chest and throwing up a barrier that looked like a living mirror, blocking the next slew of attacks without issue, as he was now outnumbered a dozen to one. "I never liked any of them very much."

"But this one is special, human", Yushis stepped forward, fury plain on her normally tranquil face. "He is one of my people. He is the son of Mizal, my dear sister, whom you violated and betrayed in order to steal her secrets. Would you like to visit little Lancelot now?"

The three beams of light she unleashed filled the chamber, and though none could bear to look directly at them, when they could see again Rashidi's barrier was gone. "Most amusing", the sage admitted, calm once more. "I do hope you don't intend on using him as leverage or something equally cliched."

"Yeah, that would be funny", Yushis agreed with a sad smile, the others taking up positions behind her along the wall, their spells and attacks ready to go. "But why bother? We all know that your own son means absolutely nothing to you. _Nothing_ means anything to you anymore, sage. _That _is why we are going to stop you, no matter if this is your story or not. Because unlike you, we actually have things that we care about, and can't stand to lose."

"Something equally cliched it is, then", their enemy chuckled. "Have it your way then, angel. In fact, take a reward for your valour, for whom is more generous than Rashidi?"

Not one of the rebels allowed themselves to be distracted by those weirdly amiable words, and it was that precaution which saved them. They had just enough time to throw themselves behind Yushis' next trio of white beams, which in turn was just enough to blunt the wave of rainbow light as it radiated out from its caster. While the result still felt like being put through an earthquake while inside of a coffin, none of them fell all the way to the ground.

None, except one. Warren Moon had been the farthest away from Yushis' beams. He had been leaning heavily on his dark oak staff since the beginning of the fight. But now, as the curving edge of the rainbow light spell struck him, his other hand gripped the flesh over his heart like a vice, a look of abject shock frozen on his face before sliding into unconsciousness, his body slowly following suit.

Quite suddenly, it was as if Rashidi Light no longer existed for many of them as their eyes and concern shifted to the fallen robed man, Lans kneeling down and cradling his body as many others gathered around. Only Fubuki and Deneb maintained their focus, and he smirked at them in passing.

He could have attacked them then, and killed many more. He knew that, and Fubuki and Deneb knew it too. Instead, the sage raised one hand to the ceiling and muttered arcane words, conjuring a furious geyser of golden flame powerful enough to tear through it, leaving a perfectly circular hole leading out to the night air above, which he did not hesitate to fly through, avoiding spells and Iainukis as he went.

Then, once the astonishment and cries had subsided, something else came back down the hole. A tiny scrap of parchment, drifting in the wind too rapidly to be caught until it came to a halt in the hands of Gilbert Oblion.

The governor clutched it tight and nearly destroyed it then and there. But already that parchment had made itself a symbol in his mind of a brave man's sacrifice.

Instead, he wept.

* * *

MUSPELM

It was not the first time Destin had been alarmed at his own behaviour. His earlier screeds towards Lans and Ashe came to mind, and at times it seemed his body would react to new situations with a boldness and confidence that his mind could scarcely believe.

Now, though, body and mind were in unison. Or at least, mind was so muddled that any second thoughts were ignored as he barged through the crowd of allies, all of them looking as distraught he must have himself.

Seeing him coming, Norn Dias walked up and raised a hand before the door. "We clerics shall do what we can. He cannot hear nor see you at the moment."

He was on the verge of pushing her aside, but his brain finally caught up and he hung his head. "I merely wish to know his status, Norn. Shall he recover?"

The long-nosed healer nodded in sympathy, risking a peek into the secluded room and bed where several other clerics, including Aisha were discussing it. "Physically, he is well. As well as can be expected for a man his age. The spell did not burn his flesh, nor freeze or electrocute or melt it. We suspect dark magic, which targets the soul instead of the body, but it is very strange. He shows no signs of such damage."

"**Rashidi**", the rebel leader bit out in fury. "We should have come back sooner! He should have_ told_ us this would happen and I would have left a stronger guard behind!"

"It cannot be helped now", the Malanian reprimanded him. "Do not worry overmuch- by all the signs, Warren has merely been cast into a very deep sleep. His body will continue to function as normal, and he can be fed mushed food to prevent starvation."

"But you have no idea when he shall awaken", Destin maintained darkly. "If ever."

"No. It is a magic of a kind that none of us have seen before, a spell Rashidi has never used against any who survived it. We might have considered it a more powerful version the sleep spells favoured by witches, but Deneb has given us the cure for that type and it has done nothing."

Those words remained with him as he fled the hall, unable to bear the sight of all those faces wondering if Warren Moon would ever wake. Atop the ramparts of Slust's castle, he stared out across the span of the flying island, wishing above all he'd remained on Earth. _If I'd only come quicker, if I'd just been there in person... well, we still would not have caught him... but mayhap_ I _would be the one trapped in a coma instead of Warren. _ That would be preferable to this feeling.

The Moon Sage had always been his harshest critic, and a grumpy wizard who disliked most people. That, he would not soon forget, but it did not change all the times they had spent together, both good and bad. What he had initially seen as a betrayal seemed like a distant memory now, and for the first time that he could remember, he made a prayer to the Twenty-Two Gods that the Thirteenth would not come and take his mentor to the great beyond.

The last person he had expected to follow him upstairs placed a sharp claw over his shoulder as he prayed, a gesture meant to be comforting but in Fogel's state looked more threatening. "Your concern does you credit", the Sky Knight told him in his usual man-dragon hybrid voice that always sounded like a beast taught to speak Zenobian. "Mayhap not all humans are beyond redemption, as Fenril believed."

"Most humans care for their family", Destin said harshly. "Doubtless your comrades mean as much to you... and perhaps, a bit more to Fenril?"

The Dragon Rider drew back as if he'd been burned by the touch. After the initial shock, he relaxed once more. "So, you were able to see that after all. Do yourself a service and speak no more of it, particularly to her. It is a bond that can never come to pass."

Memories of Yushis and Lans still fresh in his mind, Destin stood and looked strangely at the hybrid's head. "Why? I should think after so many years of service, you two deserve some happiness."

"It is not she whom is at fault", Fogel said. "It is I."

"The curse", the rebel leader acknowledged, grateful to have something to take his mind off Warren's condition. "Fenril told me that you were the one who destroyed the isle of Shiguld."

"Indeed I was", the Sky Knight conceded, giving him some more space, perhaps expecting a bout of righteous anger. "It was a time just after the Ogre Battle. I was young and prideful, anxious to find opponents worthy of my skills."

That was difficult to imagine, even if Destin had met his fair share of overconfident people whose sole goal seemed to be to seek out difficult fights until they were dead. General Figaro came to mind, as did Selec Fubuki.

"Rumour spoke of an ancient dragon", Fogel continued. "The biggest, most powerful dragon ever, whom had been entrusted with the rulership of Shiguld, which was back then a paradise the equal of Shangrila. The dragon's name was Fahfniel. He was perhaps the only dragon who has ever lived long enough to speak in words that humans and angels could understand. For even as we fought, the dragon spoke to me, and warned me not to continue. Being the brash fool that I was, I interpreted his words as idle threats and hurled back some of my own."

"I take it you won", Destin noted tiredly.

"Yes, human. I 'won'. And yet I lost. I lost so much more than ever I could have hoped to gain from it. For without Fahfniel's power, the balance of the island was shifted onto me, his murderer. I, whose soul was yet so imbalanced and corrupted by arrogance, delusions of glory to be had from such a kill. The island was split in half by my own impurities, never again to be able to move freely about the skies as the others could, and its cities all fallen into ruin, laid waste by the earthquakes."

"Hence, the Ruined City", he acknowledged.

"Ruined by me. And so the punishment of the Gods was my curse. Never again to leave the heavens and always to stand guard over Shiguld, so that I might forever live among the consequences of my actions. Far more intimate however, was the gradual transformation into a dragon. A dragon of the same brood as the lost Fahfniel, so that I might one day replace him and restore balance to the lost kingdom. That day has yet to arrive, and every day I feel one step closer to a beast than a man."

"Harsh", was the only sympathetic word he could think of. "Surely after so much time as a beast, your debt is paid?"

Fogel looked insulted. "What is time, to an immortal? Eternity is the only measure of time with any true significance. This is my punishment, and I have learned to accept it. Only when Shiguld is restored and made whole shall I be restored to the man I was."

"Will that ever happen?", Destin asked, barely believing anyone, even the Twenty-Two, would visit such a severe penalty on anyone. "What can you do there but mope amongst the ruins of your kingdom? And how is that fair to your beloved?"

"It is not for us to decide what is fair", Fogel claimed. "The very concept of fairness originated with beings predating even my people. It is only just that they should decide, though indeed when I first received the curse I begged and pleaded with Them to reconsider, then damned and blamed them for my own mistake. Eventually I learned. Mayhap you shall as well."

"It is not right", Destin insisted idly, finding something oddly familiar in the man's persistent self-shame and misery. "But I can already tell that after centuries spent in penitence I shan't change your mind now. Let us talk of other matters."

Both fell into silence for several moments. Destin already knew what he wished to ask about, but felt it polite to let Fogel speak his mind further if he wished. Instead, the Sky Knight drew his blade, the dark sword with the violet-black markings and jagged edges as twisted-looking as its owner.

"_Zephyulos_. Take it", he offered. "I shall never leave the Sky Islands until my atonement is complete, but I also believe that your battle is the most important one that humans have yet fought amongst themselves, and wish to contribute all that I can. My Seraphim and Cherubim, those faithful who yet remained with me in my attempts to rebuild Shiguld, are yours to command."

"My... my utmost thanks, Dragon Rider", the rebel leader said in appreciation, testing out the blade's grip in his off hand. As he'd expected, the Zephyulos sword was too big for him, but one of the other bulkier knights might make better use of it than he.

"Your turn, then. I sense your troubles, I smell your distress."

"Dead on", Destin admitted, annoyed that the best phrase he could come up with contained the word 'dead'. Warren truly was getting to him. "The Roshian Order teaches us much of the Ogre Battle. Those teachings were passed on to me at a later time than normally, but still I know the story as the church tells it. Yet... in my travels I have found the Order of Roshian cannot always be trusted. They _are_ only human. If they would lie about some things, why not about their legends, casting humanity in a more positive light?"

"So you come to us", Fogel deduced. "We, the sole survivors of the Ogre Battle."

"Yes", he pleaded, eyes locked into Fogel's dark green crystals. If Warren was never again to open his crinkled eyes and rise from that bed, then it would be up to him to make up for that loss of ancient knowledge, and this was a legend that predated even the Sages, even Rashidi. "In the nether realm Antanjyl I met Galf, an Ogre, but he wasn't the sort to speak of his past. He was only concerned with using the Brunhild sword to escape from his prison."

Fogel grunted in dismay. "I met Galf in battle out in the wasteland that humans would eventually come to call Dahlmud. He was powerful, true, but he had a tendency to assume too much of his comrades. He fell to _Zephyulos_, and his foul blood tainted this blade. It is good that his soul never escaped Hell."

"Yes, he tried to persuade me to let him join the rebellion in exchange for letting him free", Destin recalled, making a disgusted face. "He is gone for good now. I am told that more powerful Ogres and their offspring, the demons, run the lower levels."

"The lower world is their home. It is their prison", Fogel confirmed. "It is where they were banished to when the Ogre Battle was won, along with the Black God that created them, Diablo."

"Diablo", he repeated in a chill nearly as bad as he'd felt when he'd first heard the news about Warren, instantly recognizing that name from the Roshian scriptures, along with the various other translations of the word. He had seen the drawings, and none of them were flattering. "The Fifteenth Roshian God. Or Denamunda as they call him in the country of Gargastan, or Lucavi as they call him in Ivalice, or Naraku in Deneuve. The God of supreme evil... was the first?"

"He would no doubt wish all who live to believe he was", Fogel snorted dismissively. "Who can say the real truth? That dispute predates even I. It predates all human nations and religions. The only thing we Sky Knights know for certain is that Diablo intended for his Ogres to be the absolute rulers of the world of mortals, if all other living beings were allowed to survive at all. The other Gods would have none of it, and so sent us, their champions, to deal with their evil. The resulting battle tore the land asunder and resulted in the deaths of thousands of Seraphim and reduced the elite Sky Knights from dozens to three, but in the end Diablo and his creations were banished to the lower world."

"Diablo would be on the final, deepest level then", Destin guessed. "Have I ever mentioned how glad I am that we never attempted going deeper than the first level? Because I am."

"You are strong indeed, to even make it that far and return with your sanity", Fogel commended him, his voice tinged with respect among the beast's growls. "The Gods forbade us to descend into that infernal world. They knew we could not win."

Destin examined the Zephyulos' jagged edges carefuly. Sure enough, he could sense a small bit of Galf's malevolent presence lingering in the blade, a brief reflection darting across the steel flat end only to vanish... but against most enemies that would only enhance its value. "I am glad that they did not, Fogel. And that you lived long enough to grow out of that ridiculous 'kill everything for fun' mindset- many human soldiers do not."

The dragon man nodded, obviously wishing he could join the rebellion, but his penitence took priority above all.

And before much longer, Destin noted sadly, the transformation might well complete itself, and they would merely gain a very large and powerful dragon with dark green scales. A worthy addition in its own right, but not as much as a legendary hero who understood tactics and planning. Also, Fenril would never forgive them.

"You may be the strongest human warrior I have ever seen, Destin Faroda", Fogel told him. "Save possibly Rashidi Light. Yet I believe that your will is in fact stronger than his. Your people tell me that he was once a legendary hero, but now he acts in narrow-minded pursuit of more magical power. You act to protect the people with whom you have formed a new family of equals. When the time comes, that difference should make itself quite clear."

Taking the proffered talon in hand, and this time no longer caring if it gave him a few bloody scratches, he clasped it tight. "Thanks again for the vote of confidence... But it doesn't change that I was unable to protect Warren."

A thunderclap broke out along the horizon as Fogel's ruined kingdom drew nearer to them, or rather they nearer to it. Regardless of nation, both sensed an ill omen in that timing, even if it was justified by rain moments later, something that passed rare in the heavens.

"All I can do now", Destin said, his voice serious as the cloud that had brought the thunder and rain. "Is avenge him."

* * *

CASTLE XANADU

For the first time ever, following the ill news from Allamoot and that of the Empress Valencima Endora's steadily-worsening condition, Zeteginean citizens had begun to talk. They spoke in hushed whispers, making certain children would not hear them, they dreamt, the imagined, and they feared the concrete possibility of a rebel victory. And just what that would mean for them, and their families, and their entire nation of proud warriors and extraordinary heroes.

All of these fears were silenced and banished from the mind, however, when these citizens visited the capital. In the massive snowed courtyard laid out before the rows of steep-roofed houses, the 12 Legions of Empire gathered.

Many had been drawn from battle lines facing the territory of the Lodis Empire, and so had yet to encounter these supposedly formidable rebels in person. Others were returning faces from multiple battles, retreating when their leader fell in order to avoid expending themselves in a futile attack out of spite, whom had lost many comrades, often family, in those battles. There were veterans from Kalbi and Kastro, from Malano and Diaspola. There were soldiers whom had fought alongside general Debonair in the final battle for Zenobia, who had witnessed the horrifying black cloud of insects known as 'termites' tear down their protective wall. Most of all, there were men and women from Allamoot, still seething about the unfair moves their opponents had performed to snatch a victory.

One way or another, every single one of them desired the death of Destin Faroda and his comrades. That, not defeat, was what they dreamt of, for together, unified in the heart of their dear homeland, they still outnumbered even the greatest estimates of rebel strength more than two to one.

Yet that day all of these thousands of determined fighters melted away when a new face arrived in Xanadu. Or rather, an old face. One that all in the army of Zeteginea knew and respected. And feared.

Hikash Vinzalf made it a point to nod to each rank as he passed along the massive crowd during their talks and thin meals and training exercises. There were Paladins and Muses, Dollmages and Sorcerors accompanied by their pets, Golems and the undead skeletons and ghosts. There were packs of Monks, the highest rank of Roshian cleric, who continued to operate under the authority of Cardinal Randals, and dozens of the masked 'Demon Knights' whom Baron Apros had relied upon to protect his throne at Malano.

Most of the dragons remained in the numerous stables arrayed around the city borders, but several were themselves in the middle of taming sessions, learning to identify friends and foes by different smells and colours. Towards the back, Witches and freelance Samurai waited, neither group native to Zeteginea but willing to fight for the Goth offered them, just as many of the rebels' own fighters were.

Hikash passed them all with a respectful cadence, and was pleased to see even the ones not native to his country return the compliment in some form or another- in the case of the witches it was roughly half of them swooning and falling over.

It was not enough, however, to quench the rage that had brought him here. For many days he had suspected nothing would ever be, yet had too much self-control to take it out on any but the man who deserved it.

The great doors of Castle Xanadu seemed to fly open violently at his merest touch. At the top of the grand stair at the end of the main hall, past a dozen elite guards in silver battle regalia and cuffs marking them as _Einjerhar_, the Supreme Overlord placed one boot down hard on the stretch of carpet laid out before the figure he sought, and waited.

Rashidi was not even looking at him. Hikash could not tell exactly what he was doing turned around like that, only that his breath seemed a bit heavy as he spoke. "Ah. The Overlord returns. Your timing is impeccable, for I was just in the process of organizing our defences, and could use your advice."

Hikash felt as though he were burning. He breathed out enough bottled-up fury to qualify as a breath weapon and still felt the burn. "I must see the Empress. Now."

"I'm afraid that is not possible", the Sage murmured, still not turning around. "The Empress' dementia has become quite dire in your absence. Even my strongest magics have been unable to restore her mind fully. She is currently resting on the third floor, and I have given her guards orders that she is not to be disturbed by anyone."

"Except you, of course", Hikash snarled, unable to hide his distaste any longer, his tone sliding from that into outright mockery,. "For whom is a better healer than Rashidi, correct?"

"Indeed", the other man said, the bodyguards whispering among themselves. "I anticipate our Empress' condition shell improve... once she hears the news of the rebels' complete destruction. _That_ is a better cure for her than anything I can do."

"It shall not happen", Hikash warned. "They are too skilled and fortunate."

_That _hushed the guards better than his yelling ever could have. Rashidi merely radiated out a sense of dismay. "Be careful what you say, Overlord. Talk such as that could prove disastrous to the morale of our troops coming from a man of your stature. It could even be interpreted as treason."

"Yet it is the truth", the enormous man countered, not caring who heard him. "Why else would you have gathered what I might presume is all of our remaining forces in this single location?"

"Not quite all", the Sage corrected absently. "I have left Previa and Luvalon's Legions to them, along with much of Randals' new elite guards.

"You withdrew the scouts", he accused. "I did not see a single border patrol on my way here from Alaqua."

"Border patrols shall not stop the rebels when they come. Only together, as a single massive horde, can we destroy the Chaos-Bringer and his followers."

Fighting back a scream, Hikash settled on removing the massive iron helmet that had protected his face from sand and snow during the long journey from Allamoot to Zeteginea, revealing weathered and ancient features, though his wide beard and hair still retained some shade of the healthy bright yellow they had once held when he was at his peak.

"Be at peace, Sage", he drawled. "No longer shall you need busy yourself with such menial things. I shall be taking command of this army. As Supreme Overlord of the Empire, that is my prerogative."

At long last, Rashidi turned. Twenty years ago, Hikash would have winced and made sympathetic noises at the sight, for flush against the Sage's left cheek was a greenish-dark blotch spreading downward in a thin trail, nearly reaching his own more carefully-trimmed blue beard. A burst blood vessel. Something he never thought to see on the legendary hero of Zenobia.

What in Freya's name had he been doing?

"By all means", Rashidi gestured in welcome. "What strategy would you suggest we utilize then, honoured Overlord?"

Not a politician or ruler, he still did not wish for many to hear his next words, and so he drew closer to Rashidi's position next to the throne. _Not_ on it. _Not yet._

"I would suggest we utilize a truce, honoured Sage."

Rashidi's eyes had been affected by whatever ordeal he had recently gone through as well, Hikash saw. They shifted colour far more rapidly now, irises going from green to white to angry, angry red when he heard those words. Then he smiled. "Honoured Overlord, I _am_ surprised. Our previous meetings had led me to believe you and your Deva had no capacity for humour whatsoever. With the exception of Cale Previa, of course."

"Do not speak his name", Hikash commanded breathlessly. "Previa has his flaws as all men do... but he is ten times the man you shall _ever_ be. And that was _not_ a jest. I am taking command of this army, and I shall accept the prince Tristan's peace treaty, which I know you have received and kept hidden from everyone."

"I have no knowledge of such a treaty", Rashidi said automatically. No doubt he had spoken some incantation and destroyed the letter the moment he had received it from the rebellion's messengers. "And I find it extremely unlikely that after all the perceived wrongs they have listen in the case for their war, that the rebels' leader would ever offer us such a truce."

"Prince Tristan despises this war", Hikash insisted, knowing that Rauny would never lie about the character of her husband. "He would take most any opportunity to cease hostilities at the moment. As would I. It is the only chance for our people to survive."

The sage's eyes became an unnatural azure blue that reflected the Overlord's angry stare. "Mayhap you received some undue damage to your head at the battle of Allamoot? So that you have completely forgotten about the Lodis Empire to the far north of us, who even now must be wondering where all our border garrisons have gone, and planning to take advantage of that fact and convert all of your people to Lodisism?"

"That was your doing, Sage, not mine", Hikash pointed out evenly. "And if a peace with the rebels is achieved, we can replace those garrisons and far more besides."

The Sage's eyes shifted to green. "The Empress shall not approve of this plan. She desires justice for the murder of her only son and heir, prince Gares."

"Then let her command me so herself."

The green eyes rolled, becoming vibrant purple. "I told you already, she is in no condition to speak to anyone! She speaks to beings only she can see, she claims that her husband has come back to her! That is the only reason why I have taken command here! No one else could!"

"I could. And I shall. Unlike_ you_, honoured Sage, I have earned the highest possible military rank in Zeteginea. My orders are the ones which shall be followed."

White eyes, now. Bone white. Death. "Not if your first command is a truce, honoured Overlord. Zeteginea is a nation of warriors, not diplomats. They have never surrendered or negotiated a truce with an enemy. You know this to be true."

"They have never _lost_ to an enemy before", Hikash said. "I am certain they shall prefer it to the deaths of their families."

"**NO**", Rashidi exploded, having seemingly exhausted his impressive reserve of wit and tact. Or, Hikash considered, mayhap he was simply exhausted by whatever had given him that burst blood vessel. "No, absolutely not. The Empress forbids it. We cannot give up. Not when we are about to claim victory."

"Victory?", Hikash asked exasperatedly. "Victory?! How is _this _half of our army expected to fare any better than the first?"

"Number one", Rashidi said, his irises becoming neon pink. "We shall no longer underestimate the rebels, as we did in the earlier days of the war when they were considered a mere distraction from the true threat of Lodis. Number two, you and your two greatest Deva are now in command. I trust that you can handle yourself slightly better than a bandit, a witch, and a bunch of milksop Zenobian governors."

The Overlord grunted, taking the insult but not willing to object over it.

"Number three... I have only just now come into possession of the final items to complete my greatest magical ritual ever. Greater than the Gemini Twins. Greater than any golem or undead or dragon. Greater even than the magics used to give the Sky Islands their levitation." The Sage's orange-scale hand closed slowly, as if crushing the heart of an unruly peasant. "When this ritual is complete, we shall have the power to crush both Lodis _and_ the rebellion in one fell swoop! I stake my reputation on it!"

"You exaggerate", Hikash claimed, unimpressed by the other man's wild posturing.

"I do not, honoured Overlord, on my very life. It is the First Magic."

Hikash had the distinct impression that he was supposed to faint in shock from that revelation, but he had never read much into Zenobian legends and so remained unimpressed. "...Gh. Very well. I suppose you are correct that most of the rebels would never forgive the horrors we have visited upon their lands for the past 25 years, even if Fichs Tristoram would. In that, they are justified."

"More treason", Rashidi rasped. He brushed past the huge man towards one of the curtains covering the entryway to the east balcony, beckoning him over with one orange claw. "I offer you an opportunity to regain the faith of your countrymen... and _mine_."

Hikash stared out along the balcony. There were a dozen men and women there, all instantly recognizable as Imperial soldiers. Imperial soldiers he had been vexed to find had one day been stripped from the 4th legion's aerial component to assist Rashidi in his mission to the Sky Islands, which back then he had not even considered to be real.

He had learned a lot in the past few months.

"Survivors from one of the Sky Islands", he observed nonchalantly, though he could not miss the way several of them drew back in fear when he stepped through.

"A pack of traitors", Rashidi corrected him, eyes shifting to an orange lighter than his armour. "Who retreated from Shiguld, causing us to lose it."

The captain of this group, a lean Muse with auburn hair tied back in a tail that was only barely regulation, looked about to protest, but the combined fear of the Sage and Overlord stopped her. Hikash frowned. "It is standard Imperial policy to flee from battle after the assigned leader is fallen, honoured Sage. There are no traitors here." _Perhaps just one._

"They _fled_", Rashidi insisted, pointing, "before the leader I had assigned to defend the island was defeated. Had they stayed, and fought as they had sworn to do for the Empire, rebel casualties would have been far higher."

That accusation was apparently too much for the division captain- she spat on the rock of the castle and cursed Rashidi for a gutless _weal'hath _worm. "You abandoned us!", she screamed at him. "You left us to die on that damned flying rock with no support, no instructions, no clue-"

"Enough", the Sage spoke simply, and that one word might well have been disguised as his better-known 'Dormee' spell for the effect it had on the angry captain. "The penalty for insubordination is death. I leave it to you to carry out due justice, honoured Overlord. This brief stay of execution is already too much a kindness to them."

Quite suddenly, Hikash realized his hand had drifted down to the hilt of _Gottwachter _by sheer instinct. The morning sun, cutting through the snowstorms as it rarely did, suddenly seemed to be right in his face, boiling him in his own sweat. He could hear his heart thump... and he could hear the pulse of life in the captain's veins.

"The captain is the one who commanded the retreat", he announced. "She is the only one who should suffer the penalty for this crime."

"_Mercy_, honoured Overlord?", came the surprised words from somewhere behind him.

_Mercy is weakness. _"No. But it is wasteful to slay several divisions of good soldiers when we are currently faced with _two_ extremely powerful enemies from the north and south."

"If they were _good_ soldiers", Rashidi drawled, "they would have known the captain's order to be a betrayal and killed her for it, then resumed their duties. What good to us are soldiers who retreat from the enemy when things aren't going perfectly?"

Clean, pure hatred froze him like a dip in a Highland lake without armour. In that moment, he would have sold his soul to Niflheim ten times over to be able to turn around and take the bastard's head off with one mighty chop, scatter his blood and ashes to the four winds so that his soul would forever wander the frozen wastes alone.

But he could not. Foremost in his mind was the realization that it would take much more than one chop. A battle between the two of them would likely destroy castle Xanadu and save the rebels' the trouble.

More important was duty. In all his decades of service he had never disobeyed a direct order from the throne, and after so much time, his very body seemed to reject the action. _No. _He clenched his massive blade tight, aiming it away from the Sage of Light so that the sunlight gleaned off of it. _Honour above all. Without oaths, civilization cannot exist, and mine was given before I had ever heard the name _Rashidi.

He wished he never had. But the path before him was clear now. Even the captain made no movement to protect herself, did not draw her pike. She merely stood there looking up at him, waiting, fully expecting, even wishing, to be sent to Freya's hall at any moment.

Hikash turned his head to avoid her gaze... and swung. A partly blind swing, but veteran's reflexes and instincts made doubly sure it would cut into the woman's neck, severing her head in one neat blow, just as he had pictured doing to the man behind him. The other troops showed every emotion suitable, backing away from the fallen body.

"Join the others asembled in the courtyard and await my orders", Hikash commanded them harshly. "Go now! Before I change my mind!"

"Well done, honoured Overlord", the Sage clapped one hand over his shoulder as if oblivious to the emotions boiling in him. "Now the word shall spread much faster that the Empire's greatest soldier has at last returned, and was in a foul enough mood to execute a young subordinate for their failure."

No answers came to him. Any words he might try to say would have come out as a strangled gasp. Rashidi did not seem to mind. He never had.

"I now give you leave to formulate your strategy- I must attend to her majesty's health. Do all it takes to inflict maximum damage on our enemies, and submit your battle plan to the Empress for final approval when you are finished."

Strategy. Tactics. A map of the region showing where the rebel attack would come from. These things, the Overlord could understand. These things, he had mastered before reaching manhood.

After all this, he _needed_ to look, in only for a few hours, at something he could actually understand.

* * *

ALLAMOOT CHAOS GATE

All the rebels had finally returned through the strange circular formation on the ground now, the pillar of light conjured by Brunhild's magic a striking reminder of what they were leaving behind, as though their memories of the Sky Islands would not be enough.

They would never forget, Destin knew. He did not need his special powers to know that. For a brief time they had wandered amongst the heavens and collaborated with a higher order of being, even earned a permanent friendship with their three champions. Among many other things, it helped to dispel any lingering doubts prince Tristan's stubbornness had given them that defeating Empress Endora and her remaining allies was worth the cost.

Another stream of light from the gate coalesced into the form of Yushis, now recovered from her injuries and eager to help. As he'd expected, Lans moved over to confront her, his visor raised.

"You are certain?", the old knight asked. "I had thought you would remain behind to look after my namesake. You have helped us all a great deal already, milady Yushis."

But the white-haired woman merely shook her head, the golden halo above her following the motion. "Slust found someone we both trusted to look after him properly. He knew that I wanted to go with you, and help ensure the child grows up in a world untained by people like his father." Waving to Destin and Slust, she raised her own staff, a brightly-coloured one with a ring on the end instead of a cleric's ankh, in a cheerful salute. "From now on, I'm a rebel full-time. I want to repay the sins my sister has committed, whether they were deliberate or not."

Lans remained looking as grim as Mizal had been before the end. He shifted uneasily in his armour, again feeling the urging of his purpose and forcing it down. "Then you have our eternal gratitude, lady Yushis."

Everyone present could tell he wished to say more, and Yushis pulled him into the traditional embrace of her people, wrapping both wings around his larger body tightly as though they were a second set of arms. "When it's over", she whispered gently into his ear, "that child still needs a father as well as a mother. Someone strong who will teach him to use his powers responsibly. It isn't a betrayal of your wife to say yes, Lans."

Looking uncomfortable, the man began digging at the pouch where he had kept Laura's music box before it had been washed away in the disaster at the valley of Kastro... and stopped. "There is nothing to betray", he replied wearily, as though just realizing the words for himself. "She desires this too. When we were together, all that Laura desired was my happiness. I did not deserve such a fine woman, and I do not deserve you now... but I as a knight of Zenobia, I vow to try and live up to that... Milady."

Everyone nearby had stopped to stare now. Slust was the first one to start clapping, and that clap was slowly taken up by all of them. For a moment, Destin had even forgotten the memory of Warren Moon's lifeless body back on the bed in Muspelm, so content was he.

Yulia Walf looked content as well. Smug, even, urgently beckoning Canopus and Gilbert over to watch. "See?", she told her brother eagerly. "She doesn't care that he's human, she doesn't care! It doesn't matter!"

Ever-stoic Canopus actually chuckled at that, and beside him Gilbert palmed his face and beard. "Yulie", the Wind Rider began, "you know the laws of our people. And it is for Gilbert to decide."

"I am too old, Yulia", their beast keeper implored. "Too old, and too broken for a bright young woman as yourself."

"I'm 35", the bird girl countered, also challenging the idea that Gilbert would care about people being a bit thrown by the fact that she looked like a teenager still. "You're only what? 43 summers?"

"45", Gilbert correct humbly. "And 24 of those spent bowing to the Empire for the sake of the people."

"Doesn't stop you from ageing", she chirped impudently. "As for being broken... no. Just no. Destin and big bro fixed you, remember?"

Amused by the debate, Canopus threw up his hands and went to Destin's side. "They had me fooled", the rebel leader confessed with an idle grin of his own. "Even with my ability to see into hearts, I knew naught." Suddenly, now that Warren had reminded them all that they were living on borrowed time, it seemed everyone had decided to be open with those in the army they had come to love and respect.

He could see both the good and the bad in that, but would never dare interfere with such a thing. Instead he chose to stand there and marvel a moment, at how the elimination of the old man who had put together the rebellion in the first place, banking on his own reputation as the Moon Sage and a Tarot reader, had not fragmented the rebels. Instead, it had knit them closer together.

_Knit together by the threat of Rashidi and the Empire towards those they care for, _he knew. And he was now knit into that cause as well- he wished to see them all live more than he cared for his own life. Lans, Gilbert, Canopus, Deneb, Yushis, Norn, Debonair, Rauny, Tristan, Saradin, Aisha, Slust... There was not a single one of them that he would not trust at his back, nor any soldier from the divisions that they each led. Thirteen full divisions. Not a huge force compared to what they faced now, but the rebellion had liberated Zenobia with far less.

And now, this time in the Empire's own backyard, they would do it once again.

"They have been like this for decades", the Wind Rider was telling him in resignation as the two continued to argue. "Within a year of meeting him, Yulie was attracted to his honesty, the way he cared for the people he governed like few other humans would. As was I, in fact- it was the reason we became friends in the first place, helping my clan to integrate into human society. Of course, the war and the rift between us put a hold on that."

"And here I thought she wanted that rift healed for the rebellion's sake", Destin said in jest. "Just a small bit of advice, then- Gilbert is waiting on _you_. He wants to be with her just as badly, but he values your friendship over that. Make it clear that you approve as her big brother, and he shall lose that reluctance."

The bird man's wings arched in surprise, for when had Yulia ever cared what her brother wanted her to do? His nod was one of recognition, however. "I had feared as much. If I had to choose between my people returning to their ancestral home, or my sisters' happiness, well... I should hope I am man enough to choose the latter. Someone else can lead the clan back home, then."

"I'll put in a good word for ya", Slust offered. "I'll even outlaw the word _Rijaani."_

"Kind of you", he nodded back. Then he turned a narrowed eye to Destin. "And I had thought you had abandoned your use of that power, my friend."

_Friend. _That was the first time the Wind Rider had called him anything but 'human' or several curse words, and he gulped. "Not for matters of warfare, where I might manipulate people into making sacrifices they do not wish to make. Matchmaking, however, I see no problem with. Guess I should have used it for that to begin with."

"Mayhap that shall be your new job when the war is over", the bird man shrugged as if his making a jest were of little impact. "A man who can identify the yearning in people's hearts for others, and point them in the right direction."

"Yeah", Destin agreed halfheartedly, backing away as he felt discomfort rising in him. "When the war's over. Right."

At long last, the pillar of light shut down. But it had left one last person standing upon the circle in the grass. A blond, blue-armoured figure, clutching a long sword of purest white, using it as a key to seal the gate once more.

Canopus frowned, and Yushis looked frightened. "Fenril?"

Unable to resist the opportunity, Slust spread his arms. "Heeeey! Fenny! I always knew you couldn't live without me! And you're just in time to confess your true love along with Lans and Yuli-"

An armour-piercing slap silenced him, but the strange gentleness that had overcome Fenril of Ice upon rescuing Fogel had stuck with her, and she nodded respectfully to Destin. "I spoke with Fogel. He told me of Galf and the strange powers exhibited by Baron Apros. He believes that this conflict is the most important one since the Ogre Battle of centuries past, and there have even been signs of those same Ogres influencing events in this world as of late. Though he sends his regrets that he cannot join you due to his curse, I offer my lesser strength in his place, for someone must ensure that the betrayer-kin does not lead you to your deaths. That would be... most unfortunate."

Another turn he had deliberately avoided predicting. But a welcome one, all the same. "We accept", Destin acknowledged, staring into the perfect edge of Brunhild, the key to the heavens. "So long as-"

_No_, he caught himself, stopping himself from saying_ so long as you don't bully Yushis about the sins of her sister. _The resentment was still there, for Mizal's treasonous acts had cut their people to the heart, and he could sense there was much more than that for him to read into... but he would not. In time, Fenril would learn to forgive and forget, or she would return to the heavens in her usual disgust. Either way, the emotions and resolution would be natural. Uncontrolled by the power of destiny.

And that was the way he preferred it.

_Fourteen divisions, now._

"So long as you fight alongside us, you shall be welcome here, miss Fenril."

Deneb was waiting for him. And there was no disastrous ending to the war in his dreams that night.

* * *

PLINSPORT

"1 million, three hundred thousand and seven hundred Goth."

More impressed by the prince's accuracy than the actual amount, Debonair nodded appreciatively across the table. "Finally, gentlemen, a war chest worthy of an army. Though you can bet the Empire shall still have much more than that."

"They must", Norn agreed, remembering her own brief education in the ways of finance as Malanian. "They've now hired every mercenary we have missed. I hear that some samurai and Roshian clerics refused, but every other warrior not working for us is now working for them."

"For the first time in decades", the prince noted in jest, "people shall be unable to find a single warrior in the grimy taverns of the world. I have already promised much of this Goth to merchants from Malano who wished to offer us deals on various rare armours and healing herbs, including some I'm told can actually resurrect the recently slain. I calculate there shall be two hundred-twenty thousand six hundred and ninety Goth remaining in our war chest after those expenditures. Possibly less."

For what felt like the hundredth time, he looked out the window and studied the mass of dunes stretching along the horizon and wondered if they were ready for this. Certainly all of his generals, Destin included, had agreed the less time they waited the better. He merely wished for a sign, some breakthrough in their preparations after which he would feel like they could fly across the Dahlmud desert as easily as though it were Zenobia's grassy hills.

It had not yet come, and he had in fact been one of the slowest to learn from the Daimyo's clipped words and motions, earning more than a few exasperated face palms from them.

He had to come. He was their prince, he was their future king. Bad enough they'd had to resort to violence in the first place, but he would never ask so many to do what he could not. So he had thrown himself into his practise for the last week after the battle at Shiggult, going over the strange undulating steps again and again until he could barely stand. As a result, there had not been much time left for training his blade, despite his best efforts.

He was not a warrior. That, even more than the desert movement lessons, was the truth weakening his heart now. No matter how many times he sparred with the others, or which sword and armour he chose to wear into battle, he just did not have the heart for battle. Not like Destin or Lancelot or Rauny, all three of whom had racked up over twenty-five kills over the course of the rebellion, earning them the right to paint their own crest on their armour as well as naming their personal weapons- _Notos, Granbane, Schneemaid._ Had they not already attained them, that would have elevated Lans and Rauny to the highest ranks in their respective orders- Paladin and Muse.

There were many others he'd seen in the rebel army who had shown that frightening wild look in their eyes, a fleeting look of _joy._ The sign of the proverbial 'killer instinct', he thought, and he was not one of them. When he swung his blade it was tempered with the lingering fear of killing, and when he dodged he would tremble with the fear of being cut, nearly as crippling as his fear of fire. He was not a warrior. A thief, yes. A thief skilled in the byzantine negotiating tactics of Malano, but not a warrior.

"I'll share a secret with you, prince", Slust the Red had offered with a grin when he'd spilled out these private worries to the most forthcoming of the Sky Knights. "My comrades don't really care too much, but in my time in the heavens I've kept a close eye on a lot of the human kingdoms in the world below. It's interesting to me. Some of 'em thrive, some collapse into anarchy, some just exist from year to year, hardly ever changing at all. And it's_ not_ the ones with the badass warrior kings that prosper most of the time. It's the ones with strong economies, and wise rulers."

Moving over, he gave the prince a playful rub on the head, something his servants, even his human generals, even Iseult and Rauny, would never dare do. "You just use those merchant skills of yours like you did with Toad, be a fair king, and don't spend too much of the tax money on yourself or your new bride, and I can just about guarantee that the kingdom of Zenobia will be restored to its former glory before ya know it. Promise!"

Those words yet rang in his head as he looked at Rauny's pristine face. The Overlord's daughter held an admiration for his non-combat skills equalling Debonair's, and mayhap even more for his dedication to finding a peaceful solution, even if all their messengers had been rebuffed so far. She was also anxious for him to bring up the next item on their pre-Dahlmud agenda.

"We also have this", he announced, raising the parchment Rashidi had left them and spreading it across the table. "A clue from Gilbert."

"You mean from the sage", Debonair corrected. He sounded angry, but that was more towards himself for being unable to return in time to help with that brief battle. "He grows more bold now that he knows armies will not stop us."

The parchment was a map of Deneuve and Zeteginea, the two countries still under Imperial control. More unique, however, were the words written on each major province, disregarding the regions' own names, which were already known.

On Dahlmud, the largest of the regions and the one they would have to traverse first, there was the word 'Amethyst'. On Shulamana, a reportedly beautiful region to the west of Dahlmud free of the snow or desert it bordered, there was 'Garnet'. At the Ryhan Sea, or rather the long shoreline northeast of Dahlmud that everyone referred to as such, there was 'Diamond'.

Beyond the Ryhan Sea, to the top of where most maps of the lands of the south ended, there was the Shrine of Kulyn, now labelled 'Peridot' and 'Grail'. Finally, there was the large region known as the Highlands of Zeteginea, the enemy's capital, which had been divided into two segments, the Castle Xanadu bordering them. The south held 'Sapphire', and the north held 'Turquoise'.

"The names of the Zodiac stones", Saradin pointed out in case anyone was unfamiliar with the terms. "The Garnet was stolen from us, Diamond was stolen from Fogel, and this confirms he has the rest of them in his possession."

"Why?", Norn asked, bringing the question on everyone's mind to light. "He's showing us where he's hidden each one? Why? Wouldn't it be safer to just store them all in some secure vault in Xanadu?"

"We did as such with our stones", Tristan pointed out. "It did not out work well."

"He still didn't get any of them", Saradin maintained, anxious not to be blamed for that. "Thanks to Warren's sacrifice. But I do agree- this seems like a trap. He is trying to lure us to each location with bait, making it seem like he accidentally dropped his own notes as he fled. The master I know never required notes to remember where he hid something."

"A benefit to his servants then", the prince argued. "He has Shogun Prochon, the two remaining Deva Luvalon and Previa, Cardinal Randals- sorry, High Monk Randals now- and Overlord Hikash standing in our path. Each of them could hold a Zodiac stone, gaining the same infernal transformation they gave to Baron Apros."

"My father would never take such a drift- I mean, such a gift", Rauny protested. "He does not believe in the bones- stones. And he would never allow his students to be transformed into demons that way."

"In any case", Tristan announced, "we still must go to Dahlmud first in order to have access to any of these other areas. After that, we may decide whether to claim these other regions, or merely head straight north for the enemy's heart at Xanadu."

"It is so", Debonair nodded, rising from the table. "I shall ask among my people as to the current position of the Deva and the others. That should help us to shed some light on whether this is a trap or not."

"Appreciated. Use the remaining Goth on bribes if you must- this is crucial. I do not trust any advice given to us by that monster, yet disregarding it out of suspicion may be exactly what he wishes."

Debonair bowed and departed, Norn and Saradin with him. Which left just the two of them, alone until Destin would arrive with the others, and together they could begin planning the Dahlmud campaign in earnest, with the _Daimyos_ as their guides. Not even his bodyguard Iseult was present.

"Never", Rauny repeated in bleak Zeteginean, trying to convince herself. "Father would never use anything that would make him lose control of himself, or dishonour the Goddess Freya. It is old Zenobian magic, something he would never touch."

"Then he shan't", Tristan assured her in the Highlanders' own language, which still felt rough and awkward on his tongue. "But either way, he remains our enemy. One of us shall be forced to strike him down when the time arrives. All for my throne."

"Do not start that again", she threatened. "It is not merely for your throne. It is for everyone's _life_. So long as Rashidi controls my home through the Empress, no one is safe. Our most recent encounter with him proved that much."

"Which he did during my own attempt at a truce", the prince noted darkly. "I might have known. Still, regardless of what the others may say, I plan to continue to try and reach those Zetegineans chafing under him, try to convince them of what you and Kaus already know."

The princess leaned far across the table and held him tight, somehow managing to make the guttural Zeteginean tongue sound husky and passionate with a lifetime's experience speaking it. "Then you are still the man I married. Never change, Fichs. Remain the soft-hearted man, the compassionate peacemaker who always tries to avoid bloodshed... and_ I_ shall be your warrior queen, the hard Highland steel for when your words of reason fail, by your side always. That, not my father's respect, is my greatest desire now."

The sheer aggression in that stance and her words was much like her skill in battle- it could not be defeated by anything. It had killed over twenty-five enemies. He could not deny her approaching kiss, which she performed with the same fervor until she was actually lying on the table, legs up out of the chair.

"Desire granted", he murmured as they broke apart. Highlanders really never did do anything halfway- he would be feeling that one on his lips for days to come.

It would be a warm, welcome companion for the battles that lay ahead of them.

* * *

**Interlude**

So it was. And so it became.

The time has come to turn in for the moment. Even I can no longer maintain my vigilance well enough to do the tale justice, and of all things the finale deserves such justice.

Yes, the finale. Yet, for many of us then it was merely the beginning. New bonds between friends and lovers were formed, people at last daring to imagine a world without the shadow of the Zeteginean Empire cast over it... and liking what their minds could conjure, vowing to do everything in their power to make those dreams into reality. Ironically, when Destin stopped using his power to force us together, the bonds formed all on their own, this time stronger than ever before.

But to me, Destin always retained a childlike innocence, continuing to learn things about Zenobia that anyone who had grown up there should automatically know. That, just as much as the powers over destiny he had been given, made him a very special person. An outsider, technically of Zenobian blood but beholden to no country. As general Kaus Debonair himself as good as admitted in his attempt to make him the new Emperor, Destin had just as much Highlander in him as Zenobian. Even if he could not speak the language yet, he understood what drove them, the influences that created the religion of the Goddess Freya to temper their bloodlust, just as Zenobia and its neighbours had the Twenty Two Roshian Gods. Somehow, he held in his heart pieces of all five countries' culture and temperament. Whom better to unite the lands?

Yet we were not the only ones with big dreams in our minds. Others dreamt of destruction, of almighty power unleashed and vengeance wrought against those who opposed them. Of becoming the God of a new world superior to even Lodis. Before long, all pretence of legitimate government in Zeteginea had gone along with Hikash's authority. Any command decision reaching towards Tristan's peace was supposedly overridden by the Empress Endora, every strategy closely scrutinized and questioned, for Destin was not the only man with the ability to read the hearts and minds of other people.

The entire country simmered in resentment towards the old Zenobian sage who dared pre-empt their Empress, and soon enough Hikash's army was dispatched to silence those voices forever. When the third town was burnt to the ground, all of its citizens sent to Freya's hall, the voices became whispers. Whispers that suggested that mayhap it was the Overlord who needed to be killed, the Overlord who had poisoned the Empress' mind and left her in a permanent delirium that refused to release her into death. Despite everything, in my heart I now feel only pity for that wretched woman, abused and manipulated by evil forces that few beings can comprehend.

And far off, in an underground Roshian temple known only to Rashidi Light and his orphan agents, a new dark power began to stir...

Forgive an old man's ramblings. We shall resume the tale tomorrow, if you are yet interested.

* * *

A/N: Yay pairings, the real reason that anyone writes fanfic (kidding). Being a novice in relationships myself, I must admit it's not something I've really done with any character before except Neo and Trinity, and with those two it's easy to make things more convincing and fun than the sequels. If anyone actually cares, all of these pairings except for Lans x Yushis and Destin x Deneb are confirmed in the game's best ending.

Hopefully I haven't forgotten anyone in setting things up for the final act, which I imagine will be about 7 chapters long, one for each stage (not doing Dragon's Haven). Unfortunately, I'm not really looking forward to the first of these- in the game the Dahlmud Desert is a terribly long and boring stage without anything of importance in it except lots and lots of ninjas, so it might be a while before I finish it. Hopefully, no longer than a month.

Welp, that's enough talking to myself for one day. Peace.


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